Interlude
by Silvver Phoenix
Summary: The months after Voldemort's death act as an interlude in Harry Potter's life. The trio deal with the aftermath of Voldemort's fall and make decisions about their futures. The wizarding world attempts to restructure, and broken families attempt to heal.
1. Prologue

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Prologue**

Mildred Kent had an affinity for good gossip. In fact, this talent of hers had made her very popular at her weekly Ladies Bridge Club meetings - even more popular than Agatha Christie, who brought homemade sponge cake every week, or Gladys Levine, whose second cousin was dating a famous actress. Mildred's love for gossip and scandal was the main reason why she enjoyed taking the London Underground to get to and fro. The Tube trains were always rife with the sort of strange people who were perfect subjects for Mildred to gossip about. At last week's Bridge Club meeting, Mildred had described with relish two piercing-covered teenagers who, while publicly snogging on the Tube in an obscene manner, had gotten caught in each other's tongue piercings. They hadn't been able to get loose of each other and an argument about going to the hospital had ensued. It had been rather hilarious, as they had been arguing with their tongues stuck together.

But Mildred had never seen, as far as she could remember, a fellow quite so strangely dressed as the one who had just entered her train now. Several heads swiveled as the man bumbled his way onto the train wearing a top hat, a pair of grey workman's overalls, and overtop said overalls, a green and blue kilt. Mildred's practiced eye was drawn to the man's feet; to her amusement he was wearing pointy-toed, scarlet shoes with large silver buckles, which wouldn't have looked out of place in the 18th century. Mildred practically clapped with glee. After all, she had thought that she would be hard-pressed to find a story that would top the tongue-tied teenagers. She watched as this bizarre man pulled a pocket watch out of the breast pocket of his overalls, glanced at it, and then clutched the pole nearest to him for dear life as the train gave a great jerk and started moving again.

The advantage of being a quite plain, unmarried woman in your sixties, Mildred reflected, was that no one took any particular notice of you. People were rarely aware of the gaze of an old woman like Mildred, harmless-looking with her floral print blouse and curled grey hair. The bizarre man worriedly glanced around at the other passengers, who looked away quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring. But to Mildred, who was innocently gazing at an old piece of chewing gum stuck to the floor, the kilted man paid no attention. In fact, he seemed completely unaware of Mildred sitting on the hard plastic seats behind him, watching his every move out of the corner of her eye. Little did he know that Mildred's sharp eyes took in everything, and that her sharper tongue would regale the ladies at the club with every detail of his unusual attire.

Finally, the man seemed satisfied that people were no longer paying attention to him. He glanced at his pocket watch one more time, and then tucked it away. Still clutching a pole tightly with one hand, he pulled a folded-up newspaper out of the lime green briefcase he was carrying (it clashed horribly with his kilt), and started reading the paper facing Mildred, with his back to most of the train.

Mildred was disappointed that the man was doing nothing more exciting than reading a newspaper, but craned her neck to read the title of the newspaper anyway: _The Daily Prophet_. Mildred frowned; she'd never heard the name before. Perhaps he was a foreigner - that could explain the strange attire. Under _The Daily Prophet_, a headline screamed: _Interim Minister Shacklebolt to stand for official election_. A photo beneath this headline featured a tall fellow with dark skin, his hand raised to the public.

In the photo, the dark-skinned fellow waved.

Mildred blinked. She took off her glasses, rubbed her eyes, and then put them back on. The man in the kilt had turned over the folded newspaper, and the photo was gone. Mildred almost laughed at her own silliness; the light must have been playing tricks on her eyes. Funny, though, she hadn't heard of there being an upcoming election. The man in the kilt was probably American, Mildred decided; after all, her niece had gone to the United States on business once and _had_ said that the Americans had horrible fashion sense.

The man looked up from his newspaper. He took out his pocket watch again and glanced at it. Then he stared past Mildred and out the window at the dark tunnel through which the train was hurtling. Mildred quickly dropped her eyes and became very busy rummaging through her purse. The man returned to reading his newspaper and Mildred carefully closed her purse, daring to look up again. She caught another headline in the man's newspaper: _Harry Potter returns to Britain_. Probably some new young pop star, Mildred thought darkly. She strongly disapproved of new young pop stars, especially those ridiculous girls with their Union Jack mini-skirts. Squinting, Mildred managed to read:

_After reportedly being abroad, Harry Potter has once again been spotted in England. Sources at The Leaky Cauldron confirm that Potter and friend Ron Weasley visited Diagon Alley yesterday, on 14 July, at approximately 10:00 a.m. _

"_He looked taller, and a bit more muscle-y. Broader in the shoulders, you know?" said an anonymous source._

_This description could lend credibility to the __rumour__ that The Chosen One spent the last few weeks battling vampires in Slovakia._

_Incidentally, collectable Potter figurines can now be purchased at Mory's Memorabilorium in Diagon Alley…_

Mildred returned to the beginning of the article and scanned it again, just to be sure she'd read it correctly. Yes, the word 'vampires' was indeed there. Well, 'vampire' was most likely some kind of new teenage slang for drugs or something of the like. Mildred sniffed; her disapproval of new young pop stars increased.

The man in the kilt turned a page and then folded the newspaper over again, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. Mildred could make out the headlines _Problems continue at Azkaban_ and _Hogwarts Headmistress vows to re-open school this year_. Mildred hadn't the faintest clue what Azkaban was and had never heard of a school called Hogwarts, although the latter sounded revolting. Mildred smiled gleefully, already picturing the reactions of the women at the club when she told them about a school named after porcine warts. She eagerly read:

_Despite ongoing reconstruction, Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall has vowed that the school will re-open this year._

"_It may be overly optimistic to hope to commence in September as usual," McGonagall told _The Prophet_, "But as long as there are students willing to learn, there will be teachers at Hogwarts willing to teach."_

_McGonagall faces many challenges, including the replacement of several staff members, and the massive re-construction of the castle, much of which was destroyed in what historians have now coined 'The Battle of Hogwarts'…_

Mildred was abruptly forced to stop reading as the train came to a stop and the man turned around, searching the crowd of new passengers who were entering the train. A tired-looking woman with messy brown hair separated from the crowd of incoming passengers and made her way over to the man in the kilt, who looked happy to see her. She seemed slightly less eccentric than her friend; the only odd thing about her appearance was that her green blouse was wrinkled far beyond being presentable, and furthermore, was quite clearly inside-out.

"Glad to see you, Delilah," the man in the kilt said in a relieved voice. "Thought for a moment I'd missed you."

"Sorry, Hubert," Delilah replied, sounding somewhat breathless. She glanced around the train and lowered her voice. "I was supposed to get on with you, but I messed up and got on the wrong bloody train, and then I had to Disapparate in the loo, it was a mess…"

Mildred listened intently while pretending to read a sign advertising toothpaste. She noted that neither of them sounded American, or foreign at all for that matter. Furthermore, 'Disapparating' in the loo sounded downright appalling.

"Anyway, I didn't even get a chance to read the ruddy memo. What's the problem down here?" Delilah asked wearily.

"I guess there's an infestation of Bundimuns in the tunnels. Thankfully they haven't completely destroyed the tracks, but they want us to get rid of them before they start breeding and eat away the entire Muggle Underground."

Delilah groaned. "Perfect. And how exactly did the little buggers get down here?"

"Well, it's the same as with everything else this month, isn't it? They reckon…well, that You-Know-Who put them down here to make a muck of the Muggle transportation system. Could have been a mess, with them eating away at the tracks… "

"Hubert," Delilah said, frowning. "We're supposed to call him by his name, now, remember? Ministry employees especially."

"Oh, right, right," Hubert muttered, taking a handkerchief out of his overall pocket and wiping his brow. "Well, you know, force of habit…"

Hubert replaced the handkerchief and pulled out his pocket watch yet again. He inspected it carefully, head slightly tilted to the side. This time, Mildred noticed that the pocket watch did not have a face and hands as she had expected. Instead, there was only a black needle in the centre, with a spectrum of colours arching over it. The spectrum began with white and ended at red. Currently, the needle was hovering at a dark yellow colour.

"We're getting closer to the infestation," Hubert said solemnly. "I figure we should get off when the DMC reaches magenta."

"Then we'll have to Scour an entire tunnel filled with Bundimuns, _without_ any Muggles seeing. Oh joy," Delilah said unenthusiastically.

A bewildered Mildred was having difficulty following the conversation. She had heard strange discussions on the Tube before, but this one was just plain nonsensical. Her face suddenly grew hot as a thought occurred to her: perhaps they were aware that she was eavesdropping, and therefore were speaking in some kind of code?

" - and our department's first on the scene?" Delilah was saying. "They didn't have to call the Obliviators in?"

"No, I guess they didn't think it was necessary. The Obliviators are swamped as it is, you know…still trying to clean up the mess that the Death Eaters made." Hubert glanced down at his pocket watch. "Detector's at burnt orange."

"But haven't the Muggles _seen_ the Bundimuns?"

"Well, Amos reckoned any Muggle that saw one would probably just think it was normal fungus. You know Muggles, they probably wouldn't even notice the eyeballs, or wouldn't believe it if they did…"

Mildred suddenly caught on. She sat up very straight, feeling indignant.

"You know," she interrupted loudly, "that's not very nice."

Both Hubert and Delilah jumped. Their heads whipped around to look at Mildred, whom they seemed to both notice for the first time. Hubert's face had turned scarlet, and Delilah looked uneasy. Well, Mildred had caught on to their little ruse and she was going to give the two of them a proper telling off.

"Sorry…are…are you speaking to us?" Hubert asked weakly.

"Think it's funny to play with an old lady's mind now, do you?" Mildred said huffily. "You knew that I was listening in and thought you'd get a rise out of me, hm? Talking about 'Muggles' and 'Bundimuns' and fungus with eyeballs!"

Mildred's embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping was overridden by her indignation that the two strangers had known it and had strung her along by making up nonsense for her to overhear. Mildred abruptly stood, clutching her purse tightly; her stop was coming up.

"You two should be ashamed!" she snapped.

The train slowed, and Mildred stalked over to the doors, waiting for them to open. Behind her, she was pleased to hear that the bizarre duo had been shocked into silence.

"Should I…?" Hubert finally said in a hushed voice, which Mildred's sharp ears picked up anyways.

"No…I don't think you need to," Delilah whispered back. "She thinks we were pulling her leg."

"I…I didn't think anyone was paying any attention to us."

"Well Hubert, really, your Muggle disguise is terrible…"

Mildred held her head high as she got off the train and marched out of the station. As she emerged from the Underground, blinking in the bright sunlight, she ran over the ridiculous conversation between Hubert and Delilah again. Oddly enough, she found herself unable to recall exactly what they had said. The strange words they had used seemed to have slipped away from her. Frowning, Mildred slowed in the street until she came to a stop all together. Come to think of it, the bizarre articles she had read in Hubert's paper had also faded from Mildred's normally excellent memory. Something about…warts? A cure for warts?

Mildred shook her head to clear it. No matter, she had plenty of material to share over today's bridge game. She chuckled to herself. A man wearing overalls and a kilt!

Mildred Kent cheerfully started down the street again, blissfully unaware of the two officials who, in the tunnels below her, were now using their wands to Scour away an infestation of fungus with eyeballs.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Bundimuns, according to _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, are walking fungal creatures whose secretions rot the foundations of houses. They look like green fungus with eyes when at rest. "DMC" stands for Detector of Magical Creatures, and is entirely made up. 

So this idea started growing in my mind after I finished _Deathly Hallows_, and I couldn't put it to rest. It's not like I have tons of time to write, but I've been putting in an hour here and there on rainy days. What became of such writings was…well, this! That's right, after an extremely extended holiday from fanfiction, I'm back.

Also, please review. (I tried to insert a little happy face emoticon here, but it wouldn't let me. Alas.)


	2. Chapter 1: Country Gardens

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 1: Country Gardens**

In Harry Potter's mind, Hogsmeade was always inextricably linked with Christmas. His mental image of the town was all icicles and wreaths of holly, cottage roofs covered with a thick layer of smooth snow, the white cloud of his breath freezing in the cold air, and the delicious feeling of coming into the warmth of the Three Broomsticks. However, as he Apparated into the main street, and felt sunlight wash over him, Harry found he could also appreciate the charm of Hogsmeade as a summer town. Sweet-smelling flowers lined the window boxes of cottages and shops. Someone had set up a colourful ice cream stand near Zonko's; it sagged under the weight of several banners, signs, and flags ("Flavour of the month: Hungarian Horntail! Set your tastebuds aflame!"), and clearly would have never held together without magic. Outside the Three Broomsticks, some small, round tables with brightly-coloured umbrellas had been set up. The tables were jam-packed full of a unique assortment of witches and wizards: Hogsmeade residents, tourists, a few dust-covered archiwizards (who must have been working on the construction up at Hogwarts), and a large group of young witches and wizards who were talking excitedly in an unfamiliar language. Unlike Harry's last visit here, when Death Eaters had controlled the village, the streets were now bustling with loud and happy people. Harry marvelled at how quickly the town had come back to life, at the foreigners who could now dare to visit, at the spirit of celebration and liberty that still pervaded the town weeks after Voldemort's fall. The years of darkness - Dementors and Death Eaters and Imperiused barmaids - had not sat well with Hogsmeade, and now that the magical village was free from worry, it was flourishing.

But upon closer look, there were signs of grief and remembrance, too. There was a shrine filled with flowers and photos in front of one of the shops, for a shopkeeper's son who had stayed at Hogwarts to fight and had never come home. There were long, white candles floating behind every window on the street, and Harry imagined them lit at night, floating in the windows as a tribute to the dead. At first swallowed up by the happy crowd, Harry now spotted a quiet group sitting at a table outside the Three Broomsticks. They were clothed all in black, and grief was still etched upon their faces.

Harry stepped forward to peer down a familiar side street, and barely recognised the Hog's Head. The pub seemed to have had its windows washed lately and the grime removed from its stone exterior. The broken bottles and other debris that had always littered the entrance had been cleared away. Several people were stopping briefly in front of the door with their heads bowed, as if paying tribute to the brave people who had rushed to Hogwarts' aid through the passageway inside and never returned.

Harry tore his gaze from the Hog's Head, suppressing the familiar feeling of guilt throbbing dully in his chest. He suddenly realised that Ron had not yet Apparated beside him. Harry immediately felt a jolt of panic, thinking of Snatchers, or Death Eaters, or being Splinched. The next moment he came to his senses and the panic was gone. It would be like this for awhile, Harry reckoned; he'd become habituated to being on constant alert. Harry smiled wryly to himself as Mad-Eye's _"Constant vigilance!"_ echoed through his mind. A soft pop beside him announced Ron's arrival and of course he was safe and whole.

"Sorry," Ron said, squinting in the sunlight. "Mum caught hold of me just before I Disapparated. Wanted to know if we needed snacks for today. You're looking to buy a house, and she wanted us to bring _snacks_…honestly…"

Harry smiled, but Ron's grumbling seemed half-hearted. Harry had been staying on and off at The Burrow for the past month and Ron had been making a valiant effort at normalcy for Harry's sake. But Ron and his family had been dealt a terrible blow. The loss of Fred seemed to permeate The Burrow. The horrible truth was lurking on the edge of every strained conversation, was evident every time George came down from his bedroom to make a brief appearance in the kitchen. It was not George's resemblance to his deceased twin that shook Harry; it was that, for the first time in his memory, George was silent and listless. There were moments in which Harry barely recognised him. In Harry's mind, the twins were always laughing, and this quiet and solemn George bore no resemblance to the George that was sketched in his mind's eye. Though he shared in the Weasley's grief, Harry couldn't help but feel uncomfortable staying at the Burrow. The sight of Mrs. Weasley quietly crying into a stew, or a pale Ginny sitting silently with Percy in the garden, her hand atop his, seemed private and familial.

Ron had been surprisingly strong thus far. He and Ginny had unexpectedly become the rocks that supported the family's grief. Although on the surface Ron seemed to be holding up pretty well, Harry noticed that his friend had become a lot quieter, and his jokes were fewer. Ron seemed empty and flat sometimes.

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked, looking around.

"Don't know. Maybe she's late?"

But a moment later they spotted Hermione emerging from Honeydukes with an enormous basket of sweets in her arms. She seemed to be struggling under its weight.

"_Wingardium leviosa_," said Ron quickly. The basket floated out of Hermione's arms and hovered in front of her, gently bobbing up and down.

"Thanks," Hermione said rather breathlessly. "I didn't expect it to be that heavy, and then my arms were full and I couldn't get to my wand."

Harry glanced at the basket, which was stuffed with every kind of sweet imaginable - Licorice Wands, Laughing Taffy, Chocoballs, Pumpkin Pops, Chocolate Frogs, several packs of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans…

"Hungry?" Harry asked innocently.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "I got here early and was waiting for you two, so I popped into Honeydukes just to pass the time. I guess the owners recognised me from that photo in _The Prophet_, because they gave me this thing and said it was the least they could do to thank us - "

"Hang on. They gave you this stuff for _free_?" Ron interrupted, looking over the basket appreciatively.

Hermione's cheeks were slightly pink. "Well I told them I couldn't accept it, but they made such a big fuss…"

"Are you kidding? This is brilliant, something like this would have cost ten Galleons, at least!"

It had been like this yesterday too, in Diagon Alley. It was the first time that Harry had ventured into a magical public place since the Battle of Hogwarts, and it had been absolutely mad. Strangers had kept stopping him to shake his hand, offer him gifts and ask to take photos with him. It had been like discovering he was famous all over again. He supposed that at least this time, he was famous for something he remembered doing. Still, it had been exhausting and though he had tried to be a good sport about it, Harry had felt extremely awkward. He'd been glad when Ron had finished whatever he'd had to do at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Now that Harry thought of it, people had stopped Ron a few times as well.

"Its only half past one, should we get a drink first?" Hermione suggested. "Your appointment isn't for another half hour."

"Sure," Harry replied. He glanced back at the tables outside the Three Broomsticks, only to find that the group of young foreigners were now whispering excitedly and pointing in his direction.

"Er…somewhere quieter, though?" Harry said uncomfortably. "The Hog's Head, maybe? I'd like to say hello to Aberforth, anyway."

Ron and Hermione agreed, and they set off down the street at a leisurely stroll, the basket of sweets floating silently behind Hermione.

"How're your parents?" Ron asked Hermione.

"Fine," she replied, but Harry thought her voice sounded a bit strained. "They've still got some problems with short-term memory loss, though. Dad keeps losing his car keys and finding them in bizarre places, like the refrigerator. But I sent an owl to Professor Flitwick, and he said that it sometimes happens after big memory modifications, and they should be back to normal in a few weeks."

Hermione lapsed into pensive silence for a few moments. Presently, she glanced over her shoulder at the floating basket of sweets. "You know, you shouldn't have gone on about us so much in that interview in _The Daily Prophet_," she admonished Harry.

"I just told the truth," Harry said firmly. "I couldn't have done anything without you two."

Ron cracked a smile, and Hermione looked embarrassed but pleased.

"I'm still surprised you agreed to do it," said Ron.

"Well I had to, before Rita Skeeter decided to write a book called _Harry Potter: Hero or Hothead?, _or something along those lines," Harry said wryly. Hermione snorted.

The interview had been uncomfortable, but necessary. The events surrounding Voldemort's death would have been wildly distorted if left ambiguous. So Harry had decided that the best thing to do was to come forward and state the facts before gossip and rumour tainted the story. He had firmly stressed the importance of his two best friends, the DA, the Order and the Hogwarts professors. After talking it over with Ron and Hermione, he had also decided to speak about the Horcruxes; Voldemort's fate was a warning to anyone else foolish enough to consider pursuing immortality by shattering their soul. However, Harry had omitted his own role as an accidental Horcrux, and had left out the Hallows all together. He had been honest about Snape, and the author of the article, Melania Mumbleton, had painted Snape in a heroic light from what Harry had told her. Harry, however, was still coming to terms with what he had learned about the man whom he had hated for so long. Snape had been unquestionably brave and he had made astonishing personal sacrifices, all for the memory of Harry's mother. But Harry hadn't yet decided for himself if Snape could be called a hero.

The trio entered the Hog's Head and Harry found the inside of the bar seemed to have undergone a dramatic cleaning-up as well. The windows had been scrubbed clean and sunlight could now shine through without a thick layer of dust and filth impeding it. The peculiar smell of farm animals, which had always pervaded the Hog's Head, had disappeared. Although still not as cosy as the Three Broomsticks, the bar was brighter, cleaner and the clientele seemed to have increased in respectability. Harry, Ron, and Hermione settled down at a table, Hermione's basket of sweets dropping unceremoniously to the ground beside her. Harry surreptitiously checked under the table for the usual mesh of cobwebs to be found there, and was pleased to find that they, too, had been cleaned out. He glanced over at the bar and the reason for the changes became apparent: a young witch wearing ruby red robes was behind the bar, wiping down glasses. She glanced up at them and let out a squeal.

Harry's jaw dropped. It was Lavender Brown.

She bounded over to their table, ruby robes flying behind her. "Hi!" she said enthusiastically. "Oh, it's so good to see you all!"

Lavender swept down upon Harry and gave him a bone-crushing hug. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione pointedly slide her chair closer to Ron.

"Good to see you too," Harry managed to gasp out once Lavender released him. She gave Ron a hug as well, and then abruptly stopped in front of Hermione. For a wild second, Harry thought there was going to be some sort of confrontation - after all, Lavender had been downright hostile towards Hermione during the 'Won-Won' days - but then Lavender clasped Hermione's hands, her eyes shining.

"You saved me," Lavender pronounced. "From being bitten by Fenrir Greyback, during the battle. You saved my life."

A fleeting image of Hermione blasting Greyback away from Lavender entered Harry's mind. Lavender released Hermione's hands and embraced her like a sister. Hermione looked bewildered; she awkwardly patted Lavender's back and seemed relieved when she finally let go of her.

Harry invited Lavender to join them. She happily Summoned another chair over to their table, sitting down between Harry and Hermione.

"So you…work here?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Since the end of June," said Lavender. "It's kind of a long story…you see, Aberforth was providing us all with food while we were in hiding in the Room of Requirement, but there ended up being quite a few of us in there. So some of us girls started helping him out with the food when we could. I started sneaking in a few Cleaning Charms too, when I had the chance, because the place was just filthy, remember? Aberforth got angry with me for doing it, but I think he was secretly pleased to discover he actually had a floor under all that filth. Anyway, when I got out of St. Mungo's - " Harry remembered that Lavender had been injured in the battle, and felt his stomach twist with guilt. " - I dropped by here to say hello and Aberforth offered me a job on the spot!"

"Never was great at Cleaning and Tidying Charms, myself," said a familiar, gruff voice.

Aberforth had appeared behind them. Harry stood to shake his hand and Ron and Hermione followed suite. Even Aberforth looked a bit neater, but not much. His beard had been trimmed slightly and his glasses had been cleaned, but there still seemed to be a faint odour of goats about him.

"They've been talking about making the Hog's Head a historical site, you know!" Lavender said excitedly. "We couldn't have it looking like it hadn't seen a Scouring Charm in centuries. Oh, excuse me, I think Madame Bromskin needs a refill…" Lavender beamed at them all and hurried off.

"She's chased away all my usual customers," Aberforth grumbled. But Harry thought he detected a faint note of fondness in his voice. "What brings you to Hogsmeade? Aren't you supposed to be busy slaying vampires in Slovakia?"

Harry smiled wryly. "Actually, we were in Australia and there were absolutely no vampires involved."

After the death of Voldemort, Hermione had quickly tracked down her parents in Newcastle, Australia. But getting to them had proven more difficult than expected. It had taken weeks for Hermione to secure the proper papers for an international Portkey. The Department of Magical Transportation was evidently extremely understaffed. Furthermore, they had been very busy getting people who had fled England back into the country. Finally, after weeks of writing back and forth to the Ministry, Hermione managed to procure papers allowing her to set up a Portkey for two to Australia. After some heavy debate, Ron had conceded to let Harry go with her, realising that his mother wouldn't take well to him going off travelling so soon after Fred's funeral. They had found the Grangers easily enough, living happily in Newcastle as Wendell and Monica Wilkins, completely oblivious to the fact that they had a daughter. Hermione had performed some tricky magic to lift the enchantment she'd placed on them and then had done some even trickier explaining when her parents demanded why they had been living under false names in Australia for nearly a year. They had returned from Australia a few days ago and Harry had been staying at the Burrow since then.

Aberforth raised an eyebrow. "Funny time for a vacation."

Harry shrugged, and Hermione cleared her throat. "Actually, we're in Hogsmeade because Harry's looking for a house!"

"Are you, Harry?" said Lavender, returning to the table with three Butterbeers. "On the house, of course," she stated, placing them in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"You want to find a place in Hogsmeade?" Aberforth asked.

"Actually, I was thinking somewhere more…out-of-the-way," said Harry. "But I found an ad for an estate wizard who deals with country properties and his office is here in Hogsmeade."

"I still say you're mad," Ron muttered. "You can stay with us, we have the space…"

Ron trailed off, looking uncomfortable with what he'd said. Harry knew that he had meant it innocently, but the idea that there was space to fill at Ron's house was yet another reminder of Fred's absence, even though Fred hadn't lived at The Burrow for a few years. Harry loved the Weasleys, and The Burrow was like a second home to him. But he couldn't intrude on their family mourning for much longer, nor did he want to continue to take advantage of their hospitality. Grimmauld Place, though greatly improved, didn't feel like a home and never would. Going back to the Dursleys wasn't even a thinkable option. This idea of finding a place of his own had got stuck in his head. Nothing else about his future seemed certain at this point, but finding a house was a realisable goal and Harry had fixated on it.

"But isn't it silly to buy a house now?" Lavender asked, frowning. "Aren't you going back to Hogwarts when it re-opens?"

Ron and Hermione looked to him, as if they had been wondering this as well, but had been too afraid to ask. The issue of Hogwarts had not been discussed amongst the trio; Ron and Hermione seemed to be taking their cues from Harry, who had said nothing on the matter. He did not know how he felt about returning to complete their unfinished seventh year. On the one hand, Hogwarts was his first real home. Part of him yearned to return to homework and Quidditch matches and breakfast in the Great Hall. Furthermore, Hogwarts was where Ginny would be and the idea of spending his free hours in secluded areas of the grounds with her was extremely appealing. But, on the other hand, the school would never be the same. Dumbledore was gone, along with Snape, and Harry knew he would never be able to eat in the Great Hall without picturing the neat row of dead bodies that had lain there after the battle. After what he'd seen and done, Harry just didn't know if it was possible to go back to the days when unfinished essays and Quidditch matches were his greatest worries.

"When will it re-open, do you know?" Hermione asked when it became apparent that Harry wasn't going to answer.

"Well, I got a letter saying that they'll be holding N.E.W.T's in September for anyone in our class who wants to take them. The castle won't be ready for the actual school year by September, though. In her letter Professor McGonagall said November, at the earliest, and then school might run for a bit longer into summer holidays. It'll still be a shortened school year, but it's the best they can do, I guess."

A bell on the door jingled as it opened, and a burly, jovial-looking wizard trekked in, his boots leaving muddy footprints on the floor. Lavender frowned in disapproval, took out her wand, and siphoned the dirt off the floor from where she was sitting. Aberforth stalked off to help the new customer, apparently uninterested in Hogwarts business.

"They're also letting us repeat seventh year if we want to," Lavender continued. "We didn't exactly learn defence in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and between pulling those DA stunts, serving endless detentions, and then hiding from the Carrows, we weren't really concentrating on classes."

"Are you going to repeat the year, then?" asked Ron, who had procured a Chocolate Frog from Hermione's basket of sweets. He was now struggling to unwrap it under the table without making any crinkling noises, and kept throwing cautious looks at Hermione whenever he did make a sound. Hermione was either oblivious, or was generously ignoring it.

"Me? Oh no. I'm going to try for my Charms N.E.W.T. and that's all, I think. I like working here for now. Parvati and I have always wanted to open up our own beauty shop, though…if she gets better, we'll do it someday…"

Lavender suddenly became busy studying the floor and Harry felt another jolt of guilt surge through him. The last he'd heard, Parvati was still in St. Mungo's. Some very nasty Dark magic, courtesy of Bellatrix, had confined her to bed in a semi-conscious state. The Healers were still working on her, but the curse was unfamiliar to them and it seemed to be slowly sapping away her energy day after day.

"I'm sure she'll get better soon, Lavender," said Hermione kindly.

"Bloody hell!" Ron suddenly exclaimed, dropping his Chocolate Frog. The collectable card fell to the ground, and the frog made a desperate dash for freedom. Harry watched it hop over a few tables and out an open window. Ron bent down to retrieve the collectable card.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Take a look at that!" Ron said, shaking his head in astonishment. He passed the card to Harry. Lavender and Hermione craned their necks to see the card over Harry's shoulder.

Neville Longbottom looked up at him, grinning shyly. He was holding the sword of Godric Gryffindor in one hand, and the Sorting Hat was perched atop his head. Neville waved enthusiastically with his free hand.

"Well I'll be…" Harry said in amazement. Hermione snatched the card away from him to see it for herself before he had a chance to read it.

"Oh, you three have your own cards, too," Lavender said nonchalantly. "My nephew's got Hermione. He's trying to get Harry and Ron, to complete the set, but apparently Harry's is very rare."

Ron stared at her with his mouth slightly agape. Hermione's cheeks had turned apple red. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

It was getting close to two o'clock. The trio said goodbye to Aberforth and Lavender, who urged them to come visit again soon. The three of them left the side street on which the Hog's Head was found and set off down Hogsmeade's main street, Hermione's basket of sweets floating behind them again. Harry pulled out a folded-up ad from his pocket and scanned it; the heading read _Country Gardens Estate Agency_, in white script. Below this was a black-and-white picture of a middle-aged wizard with a very large smile. The words _William Peet, sales representative _were beside this picture, along with an address.

The address led them to a quaint-looking building with a large, white sign reading _Country Gardens Estate Agency_ hammered into the ground. Photographs of several different homes were plastered to the shop windows. Some looked indistinguishable from Muggle houses; the only things moving in these pictures were gently swaying trees, or an occasional bird flying by. Other houses in the photos were quite clearly magical, with spinning chimneys or windows that kept re-arranging themselves. Harry tore his gaze from the photo of a bright pink house and pushed open the door.

The interior was small, a handsome desk on each side of the room. There were two comfortable-looking armchairs before each desk. The walls and ceiling were plastered with more glossy photos of houses, flats, cottages and happy customers. Suddenly, one of the big armchairs on the left side of the room started making its way over to the right side, so that three armchairs now sat in front of the right desk. A teapot, which had been floating in mid-air near the back of the shop, quickly poured its contents into three little teacups with the words _Country Gardens Estate Agency _written on them, and the teacups came zooming at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry and Ron deftly caught theirs; Hermione quickly pulled out her wand and froze her teacup while it was still airborne, then plucked it out of mid-air.

A wizard in emerald green robes burst out of a door that Harry hadn't realised was there. His face was very tanned, and his skin had the leathery sort of look that came after excessive sun exposure. He beamed at the three of him, and Harry saw that his teeth were very white and very straight.

"And of course you're Harry Potter!" the man exclaimed, hurrying forward to pump Harry's hand enthusiastically. "Great to meet you, I'm a huge fan!"

Harry felt bizarre being addressed as if he were a rock star. "Er…nice to meet you too."

"Willy Peet, at your service!" the estate wizard said enthusiastically. "And you're Ron Weasley, of course and Hermione Granger…now, you wouldn't mind if I snapped a quick photo, would you?"

"I - " began Harry, but before he could get another word out, Willy Peet had grabbed a very large, clunky camera. There was a great bang and flash of light as Mr. Peet snapped a photo. Harry choked on the copious amount of green smoke that issued from the camera while their photo unfurled out the bottom of it. In the picture, Hermione and Harry lifted their hands to their faces to shield their eyes from the flash, while Ron jumped in surprise and spilled his cup of tea on himself.

"Lovely!" gushed Mr. Peet.

He sent the photo flying over to the far wall with a wave of his wand. It stuck to the wall next to a photo of Mr. Peet shaking hands with Quidditch player Aladair Maddock in front of a large, white house.

"Please, please, have a seat!" Mr. Peet insisted. "Can I get you anything? Drink? Snack?"

"We're fine, thanks," said Hermione as she drained the tea out of Ron's shirt with her wand.

"Well then sit down, sit down!" Mr. Peet exclaimed as he settled behind his desk. The trio sunk into the armchairs before him. "What brings you here, Mr. Potter?"

Harry suddenly felt nervous. He wasn't sure how to go about this; after all, looking for a house was quite an adult thing to do.

"Well, ah…I'd like to buy a house," he said rather stupidly.

"Of course!" Mr. Peet cried. He abruptly started talking twice as fast as he had been before. "I read your letter, of course, and I've got lots of lovely country properties in and around the Hogwarts area. Charming bungalow just outside Hogsmeade, two bedrooms, roomy kitchen, bit of a fixer-upper but nothing for a talented wizard such as yourself - "

"Actually," Harry interrupted, "I'm not necessarily looking for something around Hogwarts…"

"Of course!" Mr. Peet cried again; Harry was beginning to realise this was a favourite saying of his. Mr. Peet started rummaging around in his desk for something, a stream of words continuing to pour out of him. "I've got some lovely country cottages up in Covelly, beautiful little Muggle town, quite quaint, and some others up near Bibury, lots of space, secluded, perfect yards for playing Quidditch, and a great stone cottage in Chipping Campden, lovely town, have you seen the church?"

Harry was feeling dizzy. "Er - "

"Here, take a look!" Mr. Peet said, finally finding what he was looking for in his desk. He fiddled with it for a moment, and then shoved it into Harry's hands. Harry glanced down at the heavy black object. The device resembled two very short telescopes, attached together by a thin, silver tube.

"Binoculars?" said a puzzled Hermione at the same time that Ron said, "Omnioculars?"

"Proproculars!" corrected Mr. Peet enthusiastically. "A patented product of _Country Gardens Estate Agency_. Go on, Mr. Potter, have a look!"

Harry warily lifted the Proproculars to his eyes, and inadvertently gasped. He wasn't just looking at a red brick cottage in the country - he was _there_. He could feel the wind on his face, and hear the front door creak as it opened of its own accord. Curiously, he could also still feel himself sitting in the comfortable armchair at _Country Gardens_, and could hear Hermione asking Mr. Peet how the Proproculars worked. Harry didn't move a muscle, but somehow he started flying forwards towards the house. He was entering the open front door, looking around at the panelled walls of the entranceway, moving into the sunny sitting room…

"Just press here to change locations!" said Mr. Peet's disembodied voice. There was a clicking sound and the brick cottage vanished. Now he was approaching a large house of stone, with a well-kept lawn and neat garden.

Harry looked at - or rather, experienced - several other houses, but after awhile, they all began to look the same. He wasn't sure what exactly he was looking for, but nothing he had seen so far resonated with him. Harry was on the verge of giving up, had nearly convinced himself that the entire idea of buying his own home was a stupid one, when something finally caught his eye.

It was old, but pretty - a yellow cottage with a sloping, thatched roof. Harry glided through an open wooden gate, which was framed by a short wall made of mismatched stones. The pale yellow cottage had lots of small windows with white frames; a few jutted out of the roof, with triangular arches over them. Something that resembled ivy completely covered one side of the house. Harry watched as one tendril started moving, snaking around the front of the house to curl around the white banisters of a roomy front porch. He swore he saw a leaf wave enthusiastically at him. The property was huge, with a rolling carpet of long grass and many very tall, knobbly old trees. Behind the cottage, Harry could see a forest that seemed to sprawl out in every direction, and saw the sun glinting off a small body of water back there.

Harry didn't even have to go inside. He removed the Proproculars from his eyes and blinked a few times, the interior of _Country Gardens Estate Agency_ coming back into focus.

"Where's that one?" he asked, handing the Proproculars back to Mr. Peet.

Mr. Peet peered into the Proproculars. "Ah, of course! Arbour Glen. I should have known! Just outside Bibury, very secluded; next house is ten minutes up the road. Originally built by Muggles in the 16th century, now with some magical renovations. Four bedrooms with built-in wardrobes, farmhouse-style kitchen, beams and flagstone tiled floor throughout, living room and conservatory - "

"Could I see that one in person?" Harry interrupted.

Mr. Peet was delighted to make an appointment for Harry to see Arbour Glen the following Saturday. Harry was given a map of its location, Peet's business card, several brochures, another mile-a-minute description of the cottage and one last enthusiastic handshake before he was finally able to leave the estate agency with Ron and Hermione. They stepped out into strong sunshine and although Harry felt slightly dizzy from information overload and his experience with the Propoculars, he also felt exceptionally happy.

"Anyone else have a headache?" Ron moaned, trying to filch another Chocolate Frog from Hermione's gift basket. Harry was sure Hermione saw it this time, but she chose not to say anything.

"He was very enthusiastic, that's all," said Hermione. "Are you sure you only want to go see one house, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry answered contentedly. "This is the one. I've just got a feeling."

Hermione frowned. "Four bedrooms, though? Isn't it a bit big for just you?"

"Well, I'll want you two to come and stay over sometimes," said Harry thoughtfully. "And Neville and Luna and anyone else…"

He didn't dare mention Ginny; he had a feeling that Ron wouldn't take well to the suggestion that his sister stay over at Harry's place. Harry's mind was suddenly filled with thoughts of Ginny coming to visit him at the cosy yellow cottage; he pictured lying under one of those big trees, Ginny's head resting on his chest…

Hermione interrupted the daydream. "A big place like that is sure to be expensive," she pointed out.

"Maybe he'll get a celebrity discount," Ron suggested through a mouthful of chocolate.

Harry suddenly realised that they had begun walking the familiar route from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. The three of them walked in companionable silence for awhile and Harry's thoughts strayed to Ginny again. They hadn't had a chance to be alone at all in the past few weeks and nothing had been said by either of them about where they stood. But Harry had been the one to hold her hand at Fred's funeral; he remembered Ginny's strong, sure grip and the look of resolve on her pale face, as if she had firmly decided not to cry. It was only as they were lowering Fred into the ground that she had turned her face into his shoulder and Harry had felt dampness through his shirt.

Ron and Hermione were now discussing what to do with the basket of sweets. Hermione didn't want to take it home, as she thought her dentist parents would surely throw a fit. Ron agreed to bring it home instead, and was clearly trying to hide that he was quite pleased with this turn of events. Harry forced his thoughts away from funerals and away from Ginny and thought about Arbour Glen. He hadn't even seen it yet, but he somehow knew he'd buy the house. He had only ever used his gold in Gringotts for school supplies and birthday and Christmas presents, so the majority of the small fortune his parents had left him still remained. Buying a home would be a worthwhile use of some of that gold, he reasoned.

They reached the Hogwarts gates before they even became conscious it was where they had been headed. Harry gazed up at the school, and felt like he was looking at an injured friend. A thick layer of dust, presumably from construction, partially obscured their view. A section of stone on the Astronomy tower looked as if it had been scorched by fire. Several windows were broken, and entire sections of the school had been blasted away. The grounds were still littered with piles of rubble. It appeared that progress was being made, though; even from the gates Harry could see the thin beams of light from the archiwizards' spells snaking around the castle.

Harry shifted his gaze. He could just make out a small dot of pure white in the distance - the white marble tomb, where the greatest headmaster Hogwarts had ever known now rested, along with the wand of which Harry was still master.

"It's not ever going to be the same, is it?" Hermione asked in a small voice.

"Not for us," said Harry heavily.

"I reckon they'll fix it up really nice, though," Ron said quietly. "Make it even bigger and better than before."

They stared up at the castle for a few moments longer. Then, quite abruptly, Hermione pulled out her wand and Conjured a cluster of white roses, which she lay in front of the gate.

"For Fred," Hermione explained softly, "and…and everyone."

Harry felt a fresh stab of guilt and tried to ignore the stinging feeling in his eyes. He glanced over at Ron, who was gazing at Hermione with a look of such affection that Harry tactfully turned away, feeling intrusive.

The sight of the school strengthened Harry's feelings about Arbour Glen. Hogwarts had been his home, but now the school was battered and broken. Hogwarts could never be the same for him. His trip to Godric's Hollow earlier in the year had made Harry realise his need for a home, a real home, of his own.

The three of them turned and walked up the road, away from Hogwarts.

* * *

**Author****'s Notes:** Thanks very much to my Sugar Quill beta reader, **nundu**, who is indescribably awesome. Thanks also to the readers and reviewers over on the Sugar Quill, who helped with some Britpicks of this chapter. 


	3. Chapter 2: Pygmy Problems

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 2: Pygmy Problems**

Ron Weasley stretched out in bed, eyes still closed. He was enjoying that first moment of blissful peace after awakening - that moment before he could remember what day it was, or care about what time it was. He revelled in that golden second of sleepy confusion until it unavoidably passed. Then a sickening feeling crashed down upon him, as it did every morning when he remembered. _Fred._

The bedsprings gave a great squeak as Ron hauled himself out of bed, and dragged himself across his violently orange room. He stopped in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, staring at himself for a long time. He looked into his own blue eyes, not moving or thinking, just staring, as he had every morning since he had returned to The Burrow.

"Pyjamas are a bit short in the leg, don't you think?" said Ron's mirror critically, interrupting his reverie. Ron glanced down at his worn pyjama bottoms, which only reached mid-calf.

"Who enchanted you to talk, anyway?" he muttered. The mirror gave an offended, "Hrumph!" and Ron took one last look at his reflection before taking a deep breath and opening his bedroom door.

He jogged down the zigzagging staircase, the smell of bacon, eggs and waffles getting stronger as he descended. On the third floor, he met Ginny coming out of the bathroom she shared with their parents. They exchanged small smiles and "Good mornings" with none of the usual sibling bickering about who was going to feed the chickens or help Mum with breakfast. Ron's heart felt heavy as he walked down the last few flights of stairs and into the kitchen. His mother was in front of the old wood-burning stove, scrambling eggs with one hand while waving her wand haphazardly at the table. The slightly rumpled, chequered tablecloth flew off the table and out the open garden door, shook itself loose of crumbs, and then zoomed back into the kitchen. It settled itself back on the table, ending up somewhat askew. Ron absently fixed the tablecloth as he walked past it, his bare feet making soft slapping noises on the tile floor.

"Morning, Mum," he said, bending down to kiss his mother on the cheek.

"Oh, Ron!" his mother said with a little start. "You gave me a scare, I didn't hear you coming."

She poured the entire pan of scrambled eggs into one dish and started heaping sausages atop the mountain of eggs. She then added two waffles to the cornucopia. Mum peered at the plate for a moment and then, not fully satisfied, added two more sausages.

"Hungry, dear?" Mum asked in an absent sort of way.

Ron stared down at the overflowing plate of food, still not quite awake enough to feel hungry.

"Starving," he lied, taking the plate and settling down at the table.

His mother gave him the shadow of a smile and returned to her overzealous breakfast preparation. Ron had heard that there was a certain way everyone dealt with death. In fact, Hermione had told him there were some stages one went through, with a lot of anger and denial and that sort of thing. He reckoned his mother was in the 'cooking a lot to keep busy' stage. Dad was in the 'working overtime and tinkering with Muggle stuff in the shed when he got home' stage. Ron wasn't sure what stage he was in, or if he was going through stages at all.

"So…any mail?" Ron asked through a mouthful of sausage. Thus began the daily struggle of trying to make conversation, being careful to avoid anything that could be connected to Fred.

"Yes, a few owls came in this morning…letter from Charlie, he's arrived safely back in Romania…a few letters for you too, over there on the stool. More eggs?"

"No I'm fine, thanks," Ron said as he scrambled over to the stool by the sink and snatched up the two letters addressed to him. He quickly shuffled through them and was disappointed to find nothing new from Hermione yet, but surprised to see another letter from Harry so quickly. He had received one from Harry only two days ago detailing his visit to that prospective house of his. The other letter was in a familiar magenta-coloured envelope addressed to him in neat, feminine handwriting. Ron sighed and headed back to the table, deciding to open the magenta letter first.

_Dear Mr (R) Weasley,_

_Thank you for coming down to the shop last week to sign those papers and to meet Allegra. She thanks you again for the job opportunity here at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. I was having difficulty managing on my own, and she's been a great help._

_I'm afraid I have to bother you to come down to the shop again, though. Several customers have come in and complained that there's a problem with one of the WonderWitch products. Apparently, the Vivacious Violet colour line of Edible Nail Polish has turned several customers' tongues permanently vivacious violet. I'm not sure how you'd like us to handle the situation. Perhaps you could ask Mr (G) Weasley if he knows of a solution?_

_Also, the Pygmy Puffs won't stop breeding. Could you let us know how to tell the difference between the males and the females so that we can separate them? They are beginning to overrun the shop._

_Send my best to Mr (G) Weasley. Please tell him that we look forward to his return._

_Sincerely,_

_Verity Chamberlain_

Ron groaned imagining violet tongues and a plethora of Pygmy Puffs. He wasn't entirely sure how he had become accountable for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Verity, the witch who had been working for the twins part-time, had taken on the responsibility of temporarily running the shop after Fred's death. Although Verity was handling daily shop business, there were also papers to be signed, finances to be sorted out, rent and fees to be paid, and so on. George seemed entirely uninterested in returning to work, so Ron had somehow wound up being George's stand-in at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes when official business needed doing. The shop was still spinning out enormous amounts of gold (they had sold out their entire storehouse of fireworks in the week following You-Know-Who's death) but Ron knew that Verity was struggling to run the business without Fred and George. He'd agreed to hire on Verity's sister to help out at the shop for now. But without the twins' inventions and their business savvy, Ron feared that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would eventually sink.

A fully dressed Ginny came into the kitchen and wished their mother a good morning. Mum gave her one of the three full breakfast plates she had saved on the counter. One of the two remaining must have been for George, who was probably still up in his bedroom, but the third was a mystery. Mum rarely ate breakfast, and Dad had already gone off to work. It was as if Mum had put the plate aside with the hopes that someone else would show up and claim it.

"There's mail for you too, dear," Mum said to Ginny. "So, what do you two fancy for lunch?"

Ron stared incredulously at his still-overflowing breakfast plate. He exchanged looks with Ginny, who lightly answered, "Whatever you're making is fine, Mum," and settled down across from Ron at the table. After shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth, Ron ripped open the envelope holding Harry's letter, feeling mildly curious. Two pieces of parchment fell out. Harry's untidy scrawl filled one page, and the other was a map, by the looks of it. Ron put the map aside for the moment and read the letter.

_Ron,_

_Sorry for the letter overload, but I thought I'd write again and tell you straight away. I did it -- I bought Arbour Glen. I know, its kind of quick and whatnot. Hermione will probably think I'm barking mad for going ahead and buying it so soon. You get it though, right? I need somewhere of my own, and I like the place, so why wait around?_

_I've got to sign one more thing this afternoon called a Homeowner's Contract (which I've never heard of, any ideas what it's all about?) and then it's official. I'm going to stay at Grimmauld Place for a couple more nights, and then I'm moving in on Wednesday! Anyway, I'm meeting Peet to sign the contract at one o'clock. Want to come by to see the place?_

_(Actually, you have to come by, because I need a witness to sign the ruddy thing with me. Map's in the envelope, you can Apparate straight onto the property.)_

_Cheers,_

_Harry_

"Wow. I don't believe him," Ron said, shaking his head as he lowered the letter.

"Who's that, dear?" said Mum over the tinkling sounds made by the plates moving back into their places in the cupboards.

"Harry. He's gone and bought that house," said Ron in amazement.

"I know," said Ginny, holding up her own letter. Ron recognised Harry's handwriting. "The nutter. I didn't think he was that serious about it."

"Are you going over there today too, then?" Ron asked, feeling only slightly peeved that Ginny's letter was significantly longer than his own

"Can't, going into the village with Mum this afternoon - "

There was a clatter over by the kitchen counter as Mum put her wand down and abruptly burst into tears. Ron looked to Ginny; they both leapt up from their chairs at the table and hurried to their mother's side.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Ginny asked.

"Oh nothing, oh it's silly!" their mother cried out between sobs. "I just…Harry…I thought he'd…he'd stay with us now. House feels…so empty…just thought he would stay…"

Ron's heart suddenly felt like someone was squeezing it very tightly. He swallowed a very large lump in his throat and glanced at Ginny, who for once looked as lost for words as he.

"Shh, Mum," Ron finally said quietly. "I'm sure Harry will visit loads…"

Harry had spent the last few nights at Grimmauld Place, with occasional brief appearances at The Burrow. Ron had figured that something needed doing at Grimmauld Place, and that Harry would eventually return to The Burrow to stay for the rest of the summer. Everyone had known about Harry's desire to buy a house, but no one had thought he was serious about it. Mum had expressed scepticism but hadn't outright disapproved, because she must have thought it just a passing fancy. A nonsensical thought occurred to Ron - maybe if he didn't show up this afternoon and Harry didn't have a witness to sign this contract, he wouldn't be able to buy the house and Mum would stop crying…

For the next few moments Ron and Ginny continued trying to comfort their mother. Then all of the sudden she announced in a stuffed-up voice, "Enough of that nonsense," and became very busy preparing sandwiches for lunch. Bewildered but grateful that she'd stopped crying at least, Ron said something about going out for the day. He headed upstairs with his two letters still in hand while Ginny stayed to help with the altogether unnecessary sandwiches.

Ron stopped on the second landing in front of George's closed bedroom door, hesitated for a moment, then knocked. There was no immediate response, so Ron kept on knocking loudly until George finally pulled open the door. His brother's clothes were rumpled, as if they'd been slept in, and his hair was messy. There was a significant amount of ginger stubble on his chin and his eyes looked dull and bloodshot.

"What?" George asked grumpily.

"Hi. Er…what're you doing?"

"Ballroom dancing," said George sarcastically. "I was sleeping, you git. What do you want?"

Ron ignored his brother's tone. "Got a letter from Verity this morning. I guess there have been some problems at the shop…" He told him about the Edible Nail Polish and the Pygmy Puffs.

George gave a hollow laugh. "Sounds like someone's been bewitching the products."

"Why would anyone do that?" asked Ron, confused.

"For a laugh, I suppose. Probably thought it was clever, playing a joke on the joke shop."

"Well that's stupid. Do you know how to fix it?"

For a second Ron saw a familiar look flash in George's eyes, the same look he'd seen when the twins were huddled together discussing some prank, or invention, or problem to be solved. But then it was gone and George just shrugged.

"I'm sure you can figure it out," he said, starting to close the door.

"It's your shop, why can't you fix it?" Ron snapped, beginning to lose his patience. He heard George say, "I'm busy," just before the door slammed shut.

"Right, busy ballroom dancing," Ron muttered savagely to himself.

He stalked up to his room and threw some clothes on, swearing as he pulled on the heavy gold watch that he had received for his seventeenth birthday - it was already half past eleven. He wanted to get to Diagon Alley as soon as possible so he could get that business over with, but he would have to hurry if he wanted to make it to Harry's by one o'clock. Ron stuffed Harry's letter and the map he had provided into his back pocket. He narrowly avoided Splinching himself by remembering just in time that he could not Apparate directly into Diagon Alley. Ron sighed heavily and Disapparated with the Leaky Cauldron in mind instead, hoping that he wouldn't Apparate into an occupied bathroom stall like he had last time.

A few moments later (he had mercifully Apparated into the bar of the Cauldron) Ron was walking down Diagon Alley, which was thrumming with activity. Several shops that had been boarded up a few months ago now had flashy "Opening soon!" or "Grand re-opening!" signs in the windows. Ron smirked as he passed Mory'sMemorabilorium. The window display featured several tiny, black-haired action figures that drew their wands at passers-by, or clambered heroically over the pyramid of boxes on which they were mounted. A banner with a lightning-bolt border was stretched over the display, proclaiming: "Here only - official Harry Potter figurines!" Ron was not quite sure what made the figurines 'official', but he was certain that Harry would not have sanctioned them. Ron entertained himself briefly by envisioning Harry's reaction when he discovered that he was an action figure.

Ron reached Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ignoring the assault on all of his senses that the colourful storefront provided, Ron pushed open the door to find the shop jam-packed as usual. He noticed that a gaggle of young witches were fighting over the last bottle of Pimple Vanisher and that many shelves had small red "Out of Stock" signs on them. On each of these shelves, several cages containing rolling balls of fluff had been jammed in, replacing the out-of-stock product. Ron swore he saw a few Pygmy Puff escapees on the floor as well, scooting around people's feet.

At the far end of the shop was a long table with an old-fashioned, brass till. Verity was behind it, looking remarkably unperturbed by the long line of impatient people she was ringing up. Ron always wondered how she had ended up working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He vaguely remembered her from Hogwarts; as far as he could recall she had been in Ravenclaw, a year ahead of the twins and had not really been in their circle of friends. With her pretty features and short blonde hair, Verity Chamberlain looked as if she belonged on the cover of _Witch Weekly_, not behind the till of a joke shop.

"Excuse me, pardon me…"

Ron turned around to see Verity's sister, Allegra, struggling to make her way through groups of customers with a tall stack of boxes balanced precariously in her arms. Ron watched as someone inevitably bumped into her and the boxes toppled to the ground. A distressed-looking Allegra dove to the floor to prevent them from being trampled by the customers. Ron made his way over and began helping her to pick them up.

"Oh, thank you," Allegra said breathlessly, her head bent as she scrambled to collect the boxes. She looked like a younger version of Verity, except that her blonde hair was very long and very straight. Unlike her sister, Allegra had been sent to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts, so Ron had only met her for the first time last week. She would be entering her fifth year at Beauxbatons in September.

"I thought I'd be able to balance them all and - oh! Mr Weasley!" Allegra flushed pink, having just looked up and recognised him.

"Hi, Allegra. How're things?"

"Just fine!" Allegra said in a very high-pitched voice. "It's the lunchtime lull, so I'm just trying to get some new stock out!"

Ron looked around at the thick crowd of customers. This was the lunchtime lull?

"Verity probably wants to talk to you. I'll just head up to the till…" Allegra hugged her newly-balanced tower of boxes close to her chest, squeezed past a wizard trying to figure out a Muggle card trick and disappeared into the crowd.

"Hello Mr Weasley," said Verity, appearing beside him a moment later. "Thanks for coming in so soon. I'm sure you've noticed our Pygmy problem?"

Ron watched as a runaway purple Puff scooted behind a box of Puking Pastilles. "It's bizarre, I remember the twins couldn't breed them fast enough."

Verity smiled wryly. "If only we were so fortunate. They're still very popular, but now we can't _sell_ them fast enough. I swear they're doubling every morning. Then there's the nail polish. I don't know how many girls I've sent to St. Mungo's with violet tongues." She suddenly grinned. "Although it's rather funny when the boys come in with them. They get quite embarrassed, because you know they're either licking a girl's fingernails, or using the polish themselves…"

Verity chuckled, and Ron found himself wondering if licking the fingernails of one's girlfriend was a normal thing to do. He took a moment to re-focus on the task at hand, and then told Verity that he had spoken to George. Ron relayed his brother's theory about pranksters. By the time he was finished, Verity was frowning.

"Well it makes sense," she said. "The shop's so busy that we probably wouldn't notice someone bewitching the products." She pensively tapped a magenta fingernail against her cheek. "I know that your brothers put a charm on the products to prevent people from stealing - their palms turn bright red, it's actually quite a laugh - but they probably didn't anticipate this."

"Maybe we could charm them to do the same to pranksters?" Ron suggested.

"That's a tricky bit of magic to do without harming the product, though," Verity pointed out. She bit her lip and hesitated before saying, "Do you think…I mean, would it be too much to ask Mr Weasley to come in?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "He's still, er…having a tough time, I think."

A disappointed look crossed Verity's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Yes, of course. I understand," she said quietly. "It was…a great shock."

They had come to Fred. Wanting to avoid the subject of his late brother, Ron quickly said, "So for the nail polish…I guess we'll have to put an ad in the _Prophet_ announcing that we're recalling that colour line and that people should chuck it if they've bought it. We don't know how much of it is tainted…"

They talked for a little while longer, trying to sort out the product problems. Ron suggested that eating the clear Edible Nail Polish might turn the violet tongues back to normal (a simple solution, but worth a shot nonetheless) and promised to take a small cage of Pygmy Puffs home for observation. Hopefully he would be able to discover the cause of their mysterious proliferating before they completely took over the shop.

One o'clock was fast approaching, so Ron said quick goodbyes to the Chamberlain sisters and hurried back down Diagon Alley. He had to fend off a couple of children who recognised him outside Mory'sMemorabilorium and asked for his autograph. He pretended to be bothered by the request, although he was secretly pleased. However, the delay meant that it was only five minutes to one o'clock when he finally reached the Leaky Cauldron. To make matters worse, when he reached into his back pocket, Ron realised that the map Harry had drawn him was gone. He swore loudly in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, drawing several stares. Ron had either left the map in the shop, or it had fallen out of his pocket. Trying his best to summon up a mental image of the map from memory, Ron anxiously repeated the name, "Arbour Glen" in his head a few times and Disapparated.

Ron had a fleeting impression of greenery and an earthy smell before he lost his balance and toppled forward. He landed face-first in a pile of rotting leaves and soft dirt, arms and legs sprawled out in all directions. Disoriented and confused, Ron raised his face from the ground, spat some dirt out of his mouth and looked around. The air was heavy and the enormous old trees surrounding him blotted out the sun; only a few shafts of sunlight had pierced through the canopy above. The place was filled with a peaceful silence, punctuated by the occasional birdcall. It slowly dawned on him that he was in a forest. He must have overshot the Apparition.

Ron groaned and dropped his head back down on the ground. He lay there in the dirt for awhile, feeling drained. This entire day had been terrible. Come to think of it, this entire month had been terrible. He had thought things were supposed to get easier with You-Know-Who gone - and they were, but only in a way. People kept telling him how brave he was, because he'd destroyed a Horcrux, robbed Gringotts, fought Death Eaters and whatever else. But now he had to be a different kind of brave to run a business he had no idea about, shoulder his family's grief, maybe never return to Hogwarts and have a great, gaping hole where his future was supposed to be. He also had to be brave about Hermione, because he cared about her so much that it scared him. He so badly didn't want to muck things up with her and was nervous, excited and terrified about the fact that they had crossed the line from friendship over into something more. Then there was the cold, hard truth about Fred and to face that required more bravery than Ron thought he could muster. It was one thing to face your own death and another thing entirely to deal with the fact that someone you loved was never, ever coming back.

He wasn't sure how long he lay face down on the forest floor feeling sorry for himself. But then, quite abruptly, Ron was brought to his senses as something jabbed him hard in the ribs. Reflexes kicked in as he quickly rolled onto his back and sat up, wand out, expecting to see some kind of predatory animal that had been eyeing his prone figure for dinner. Instead, a small boy with a round face and messy brown hair was staring at him curiously. He looked quite young, perhaps only four or five years old, and still had the chubby look of a child who hadn't yet lost their baby fat.

"How come you were sleeping on the ground?" the boy asked in a small, clear voice.

Ron glanced at a moss-covered rock sitting in front of him. He must have Apparated directly onto the rock, which had caused him to lose his balance. "I wasn't sleeping, I tripped and fell," he muttered, beginning to stand up.

The boy's large green eyes flickered to Ron's wand, which was still drawn. "Are you looking for a walking stick? 'Cause that one's really small, it isn't going to work."

_Oh, brilliant, the kid's a Muggle_, Ron thought as he swiftly pocketed his wand. He took a moment to look around at his surroundings, absently brushing dirt off himself as he did so. It was forest as far as the eye could see. He guessed they were in a ravine, because the ground sloped sharply upward on one side. He could not see what was over top of the slope.

"Do you live in the forest, then?" the boy piped up. Ron started; he had forgotten the kid was there.

"No, I do not live in the forest," said Ron irritably. "And may I ask what you think you're doing, traipsing about the woods and kicking people?"

"I'm collecting bugs," the boy said matter-of-factly. "I caught a spider; want to see?"

Ron inadvertently shuddered. "No. Look, shouldn't someone be watching you or something? Where are your parents?"

"In heaven," the boy responded promptly, in a casual tone. He might as well have said they were at the post office.

Ron was taken aback. "Oh. Er…sorry."

"That's okay. I live with my Granny and Grandpa, over there," he jerked his chubby thumb over his shoulder, in the vague direction of the uphill slope.

"That's erm…nice. Listen, I'm looking for my friend's house," Ron said. He felt very stupid asking for directions from a child, but it would be even stupider to aimlessly wander the forest for the rest of the day. "The place is called Arbour Glen, have you heard of it?"

"We live on Arbour Glen, too! My house is Number Two, Arbour Glen Road," the boy said, reciting his address in the slow, singsong voice that children usually used to repeat something they had memorised. "There's another house way down the road, but it's really old and rotten, and nobody's lived in it in ages, and I got in trouble once from Granny for trying to get in the front gate - "

The description did not match Harry's portrayal of the house, but Ron decided it was worth a shot. "How do I get there?" he interrupted.

The boy pointed up the slope. "When you get to the top, you'll see the road. Watch out for snakes though, there's some in the bushes," he said cheerfully.

"Thanks," Ron muttered, heading towards the uphill climb. He heard the boy call out, "Bye!" behind him and suddenly felt slightly guilty about leaving the little boy alone in the forest. Then again, it wasn't really his problem if the boy's grandparents wanted to let him to wander about down there alone, was it?

After a few scrapes from wayward branches and a narrowly missed encounter with a garden snake, Ron reached the top of the slope. He found himself on a gravel road enclosed by forest. The road was empty and quiet, shrouded in peaceful silence like the forest. Further up the road, he could make out a low stone wall amongst the trees, so he set off in that direction. Presently, he came to wall; in the middle of the stone wall stood a gate and behind it was a large, grassy property with a little yellow cottage in the middle. It looked neither old nor rotten and Ron wondered briefly if there were some charms around the place to keep Muggles away. He opened the gate and headed up a dirt pathway towards the cottage.

The front door was unlocked, so Ron pushed it open and entered a small hallway. A flight of stairs stood in front of him. There were handsome wooden beams throughout the house. To his left was a sunny sitting room, bare except for an old-fashioned fireplace. To his right there was an empty kitchen with a wood-burning stove and bright blue curtains on the windows. Sunlight streamed through the large windows in the entranceway, making the place feel sunny and happy despite its bareness. Ron liked it immediately.

Harry appeared at the top of the staircase and came thumping down the stairs, looking alarmed. "What happened?" he demanded as he reached the entranceway, his eyes raking over Ron.

Ron realised that he was still covered in dirt and forest debris. He pulled a leaf out from behind his ear. "Apparition error," he said dryly.

The look of worry was wiped off Harry's face and he began to laugh. Ron rolled his eyes at him.

"You're late, by the way. It's half past one," Harry said. He had stopped laughing but was still grinning.

"You're lucky I came at all. If I hadn't checked the post this morning…"

"Sorry, I know it was kind of last minute. I owled Hermione too - "

Ron felt his heart leap at her name. "Is she here?"

"No, she couldn't come. I guess her grandmother's visiting for a few days, so she's got to keep magic to a minimum. She managed to stick her head in the fireplace this morning while her grandmother was in the bath to tell me that she couldn't come, though. Lucky this place is already connected to the Floo network."

Ron felt mollified; this explained the lack of post from Hermione over the past few days. He knew owl post wasn't used by Muggles (they did something mad like stick their letters into little boxes), so her grandmother might think sending mail by owl was weird. He had never thought about how Hermione had to keep magic a secret from everyone but her parents.

Ron's thoughts were interrupted as Willy Peet, the estate wizard from Hogsmeade, thundered down the stairs with a rolled-up piece of parchment in his hands. "Mr Weasley! Pleasure to see you again, of course, glad you made it!"

"Hi," said Ron, a bit wearily. Just listening to Peet tired him out. He was suddenly reminded of the boy in the forest. "Hey, did you know there's another house up the road? I think they're Muggles, I met their grandson wandering around the forest."

"Ah, yes," said Mr Peet. "Older Muggle couple, they live about five minutes up the road. They rarely go out, from what I understand, so you won't have any trouble with them. I didn't know they had a grandson…but this house comes equipped with several Muggle-repelling charms, so no need to worry about that! Now, if you'll just come with me, we'll get this signed…"

Peet headed into the sitting room. Harry and Ron hung back while Peet Conjured a table and spread out the piece of parchment on it.

"So," said Harry in a low voice to Ron. He looked a bit nervous. "What do you think of the place?"

A memory flashed through Ron's mind, of him being twelve years old and showing Harry his room for the first time. He remembered he had been anxious for Harry's approval of his house, too. Ron smiled for probably the first time that day.

"I think it's brilliant," said Ron truthfully. Harry grinned.

They went through the contract, which seemed to contain a load of legal jargon that Ron didn't quite grasp. But apparently Harry had quickly talked it over with Hermione when she had Flooed him, so this made both of them feel better about signing it. Mr Peet beamed and shook their hands several times, then took another awful photo of the two of them standing on the porch of the house. He finally parted after shaking their hands yet again and left Ron and Harry standing on the porch, both feeling a sense of accomplishment.

"This is my house," said Harry slowly, as if testing out the words.

"That is kind of cool," said Ron with a grin.

They stood in pleasant silence for a moment, enjoying the view of Harry's yard, with its tall, curvy old trees and sprawling carpet of grass. Suddenly, Ron slapped his forehead and swore. "I forgot the damn cage of Pygmy Puffs!"

"Housewarming gift for me?" Harry joked, one eyebrow raised.

"No…long story, I'll explain some other time," Ron said with a sigh. "Look, I've got to go back to Diagon Alley to pick something up from the shop."

Harry looked at him strangely for a second and shrugged. "All right. I'll be back at Grimmauld Place tonight, but I move in here on Wednesday. You'll come help, right?"

"No, I think I'll let Kreacher handle all the heavy lifting," said Ron sarcastically. "Of course I'll come help, you git. I'll see you Wednesday morning."

"Try to Apparate into the house this time," said Harry with a smirk.

Ron wearily turned on the spot and Disapparated, successfully Apparating into the bar of the Leaky Cauldron for the second time that day. He hurried out into Diagon Alley. Upon entering the shop, he quickly explained why he had returned to a flustered-looking Allegra and grabbed the cage of Pygmy Puffs he was supposed to take home.

"Oh, we forgot to tell you before," said Allegra nervously. "Some people from the Office for the Regulation of Magical Shops and Services are coming in on Thursday to do an inspection of the shop. We were wondering if you could be here for that…"

Ron suddenly felt very tired. "Yeah, I'll be here," he answered, casting his eyes around the shop and wondering if there was anything they could get into trouble over. The nail polish and Pygmy problems didn't exactly lend credibility to the shop at the moment, but he could see nothing that blatantly flouted any rules lying about…

As he looked around the shop, Ron noticed a heavyset wizard in black robes skulking over near the Reusable Hangman display. The stranger was turned towards Ron, undoubtedly watching him, although his face was partially obscured by a hood. Frowning, Ron interrupted Allegra in the middle of saying something about changing signage to make prices more visible. He started making his way over towards the hooded figure. The man, however, seemed to realise that Ron was heading his way and quickly swept out the door. Ron pushed his way through a family who had just entered the store and stumbled out the door to see the man in black running down Diagon Alley.

"Oi, you!" Ron hollered after him, guessing that he had just found the prankster about which George had theorised. "Come back here!"

He sprinted after the hooded man, who ran into the less busy area of Diagon Alley. Ron saw the man turn round a quick corner and realised he was heading into Knockturn Alley. Feeling triumphant - Knockturn Alley ended in a dead end, after all - Ron pumped his legs a bit harder and rounded the corner at high speed.

Something suddenly slammed into the back of Ron's head with a sickening cracking sound. White dots exploded in Ron's vision; he felt hot pain blossom at the site of impact and slowly seep into the rest of his skull. Ron stumbled and felt rough hands pushing him up against a stone wall. One hand held his head against the wall, while the other jabbed something sharp into his back, something that was almost certainly a wand. Ron suddenly was very sure that he had been mistaken. This man was _not_ the joke shop prankster.

"Who are you? What the hell do you think you're doing, attacking people in the streets?" Ron asked furiously, his face pressed against the wall.

"You shouldn't have followed me," said a quiet, threatening voice in his ear.

"You shouldn't have run away like a guilty criminal, then," Ron said boldly.

His attacker gave a chilling laugh. "You and your friends will get yours when the time is right," he said cryptically. "For now, though, we can't have you doing anything stupid. _Petrificus Totalus_."

Ron felt his body stiffen. His attacker released him and Ron went crashing to the ground. Frozen and helpless, Ron found himself face down on the ground for the second time that day. The hooded man disappeared around the corner, and Ron was left to spend the end of his unfortunate day lying on the ground in Knockturn Alley.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **As always, a huge thanks to my beta, **nundu**. Many thanks also to everyone who has read and reviewed this story so far! I do a happy little dance in my chair every time I get one of those delightful review notices in my e-mail inbox. Don't _you_ want to be responsible for a happy little dance? If so, review!

Seriously though, despite my somewhat questionable review-mongering tactics, I really do appreciate your comments, especially the constructive ones. I've been finding that writing from Harry's point of view slightly easier than from Ron's and Hermione's (probably because I've been reading Harry's POV for seven books), so any comments on the characterization and point of view in this chapter would be much appreciated!


	4. Chapter 3: Stranger than Granger

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 3: Stranger Than Granger**

****

Without a doubt, the best spot for reading in the Granger house was the window seat in the conservatory. It had not always been a window seat though; when Hermione was very small her mother had used the ledge beneath the bay window as a spot for her potted plants. It had been Hermione and her father who had moved the plants, much to her mother's chagrin. They had converted the ledge into a comfortable reading space, with cushions and blankets and Hermione's favourite pillow. Years later, though she was much bigger, Hermione could still just fit into that comfortable space. She sat there now with her knees pulled up to her chest and pillows carefully arranged around her for maximum comfort. A large book with a dark leather cover was open in front of her, resting against her shins. Hermione paused to take a sip of lemonade from the glass she had brought in with her and continued reading.

_At this time house-elves lived in tribes called Moordats. Each Moordat had a patriarchal family whose members were the highest-ranking elves in the tribe. The patriarchs provided protection from predators and other tribes, and were also responsible for keeping order within the Moordat. All other families of the Moordat belonged to the servant class - that is, they lived to serve the patriarchal family. __An elf's ranking in the tribe depended entirely upon the tasks that they were given by the patriarchs. Thus, those elves with more important duties had greater status in the tribe hierarchy. The greatest honour for an elf was to be chosen as the personal servant for a member of the patriarchal family._

_The patriarchal family could be distinguished by their elaborate dress. Often, this consisted of layers upon layers of clothing. The amount of clothing an elf wore corresponded directly with their ranking…_

"Her-_mione_."

A startled Hermione looked up from her book; she had been completely unaware of her mother's presence in the room. The way her mother had said her name made Hermione suspect that it was not the first time she had called her. Hermione marked her place and closed _A Comprehensive History of Magical Beings_. Her mother's hair was pulled back into a bun, with curly wisps escaping near the back of her neck. She held the cordless phone in one hand; the other hand was resting on her hip.

"Hermione, I need you to tell me one more time what exactly you put in that letter to Natalya," Mum said in a tired voice.

Natalya had been the receptionist at her parents' dental practice and was one of the many people Hermione had written or telephoned last year pretending to be her mother. The preparation to hide her parents had been carefully considered, planned and executed in typical Hermione fashion.

"I wrote that you and Dad were taking an extended holiday and were going travelling for an indefinite amount of time," Hermione recited patiently. "And I told her to notify all your patients that you would be unavailable for several months and to recommend them to Dr. Singh until you returned. I also said that you and Dad would gladly hire her back upon your return, but that you would understand if she took another job. I also wrote a very nice letter of recommendation from you."

Mum pursed her lips together as she digested this. She sighed. "All right. Well, I certainly hope she hasn't gone to work for someone else. We'll have to give her a raise if we want her back…"

From somewhere in the house came the sound of a door slamming. "Dad and your grandmother must be back," Mum said, sounding less than thrilled. "Well come along then, Hermione, I'll put on some tea…"

Hermione got down from the window seat, pulled her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at her book. "_Mestatrans_ bedroom," she murmured. The book disappeared with a loud pop, which startled her mother. She gave Hermione a look of disapproval. Mum had always been against the use of magic for menial tasks, believing it would make Hermione lazy. Her recent experience with memory modification had made her even more wary of anything magical.

"Well I've got to do magic _sometime_ or I'll forget how!" Hermione said in response to her mother's disapproving frown.

"Not while your grandmother's in the house."

"It's not like she was in the room," Hermione muttered as she followed her mother into the front hall. Dad was trying to help Grandma Jean take off her black wool coat, which she wore out even on the hottest days.

"For heaven's sake, Gregory, I can do it myself, I'm not an invalid," Grandma Jean snapped, slapping his hand away. It was somewhat comical to see Grandma, who was about half Dad's size, bossing him around. Dad just shrugged, bent down and started untying his shoes instead.

Hermione rarely saw her paternal grandmother. She and Granddad Gabe had moved to France once he had retired. When her grandfather passed away, Grandma Jean had refused to move back to England. Now she lived alone in a spacious old house in the French countryside. The last time Hermione had seen her grandmother was the summer before her third year at Hogwarts, when the Grangers had gone on holiday to France. However, Hermione had spent very little time with her grandmother during the holiday. She had been far more interested in learning about the local wizarding history than in going around with Grandma to have tea with her various friends.

To the Grangers' surprise, Grandma Jean had telephoned a week ago out of the blue, not long after Hermione and her parents had returned from Australia, and had announced that she was coming to visit. She had arrived on Saturday and was already driving Mum and Dad mad.

"Well, Marianne wasn't in," Grandma Jean said briskly, marching into the kitchen. The Grangers all followed passively, as if this was Grandma's house. "I expect she's out at that Grisham Market you told me about, Helen. But we couldn't go to the market, because Gregory 'needed to get back'." She threw a reproving look at Dad as she sat down at the kitchen table.

"Did you get a hold of Natalya, Helen?" Dad asked Mum, pretending that he had not seen Grandma's look.

Mum poured some water into the kettle. "I was just about to call. We might have to give her a raise…"

"Who is Natalya?" Grandma Jean interjected.

"Mum and Dad's old receptionist," Hermione explained.

"Well," said Grandma Jean disapprovingly, "perhaps you wouldn't have to call your former receptionist and beg her to come back if you hadn't gone off gallivanting in Australia for a year."

Mum and Dad exchanged looks but said nothing. Hermione became very interested in staring at the wood grain on the table. Grandma Jean had harassed Mum and Dad about their 'trip' to Australia for the past two days. Her parents were having a tough enough time trying to get their lives back in order without Grandma constantly badgering them about their year-long absence, which had of course been entirely Hermione's doing.

Although Hermione had taken such drastic measures to keep her family safe, she knew that her parents were having difficulty accepting what she had done to them. Hermione suspected that to her parents, the entire wizarding world was a bit like a fairy tale, with dragons and centaurs and evil wizards as well as good ones. It had never occurred to them, when she had tried to explain Voldemort's return a few years ago, that the wizarding world could merge with the Muggle one and that evil wizards could hurt non-magical people, too. In Hermione's mind her actions were more than justified, but her parents felt deceived, confused and hurt. Thus, things had been strained at the Granger household for the past week or so and Grandma Jean's comments had not been helping matters at all.

When it became apparent that she was not going to get a response from anyone, Grandma re-adjusted the black shawl draped over her shoulders (she always wore this as well, even indoors) and said, "Perhaps Herm-yonne could take me to the market."

Grandma Jean always pronounced Hermione's name as if it was French. Hermione had given up trying to correct her, but Dad always took it as a personal affront.

"Mother, its Her-my-oh-knee," Dad said, clearly exasperated.

"Honestly Gregory, why couldn't you name her something sensible, like Sally or Jane?" Grandma said huffily.

"She's named after the daughter of Helen of Troy, for your information," retorted Dad, who was an avid Classics buff. His study was filled with books like _The_ _Iliad _and _Classic Greek Tragedies Volume I_ through _Volume V._

"Well it's not my fault you decided to name your daughter after some heathen - "

Dad made a spluttering noise; his face turned red and his eyes went wide behind his glasses. He was clearly offended by the accusation that the ancient Greeks were heathens.

"I can take you to Grisham Market, Grandma Jean," Hermione interrupted quickly.

Dad took a deep, calming breath. "It's a twenty minute walk, Mother. I'll drive the two of you." As if to prove his willingness to be of service, Dad strode purposefully out into the front hall. Seconds later, he returned to the kitchen.

"Has anyone seen my shoes?" he asked, puzzled.

"They're on your feet, Dad," Hermione said patiently. After untying them earlier, he had forgotten to take his shoes off. Memory lapses such as this had been frequent for both her parents over the past few weeks.

Dad looked down at his untied shoes in surprise. "Oh."

"I think I'll walk, Gregory," said Grandma Jean dryly.

Moments later, Hermione and her grandmother were outside. It was a cloudy sort of afternoon, which was a welcome relief after a week of the hot sun beating down upon them. Several other people seemed to be taking advantage of the relative coolness. A familiar-looking neighbour was out walking her dog, a group of children were drawing on the sidewalk with coloured chalk and a man in a hooded jacket was jogging on the opposite side of the street.

Hermione and Grandma Jean walked in uncomfortable silence for the first few moments. Hermione realised that she could not remember the last time she had been alone with her grandmother.

"So how is school?" Grandma Jean asked rather abruptly. "Are you finished yet?"

The question made Hermione immediately think of her unfinished seventh year and her burning desire to complete it. She felt a kind of urgent need to learn everything she possibly could from Hogwarts, and leaving that year incomplete forever was a sacrifice she was not sure she could bear to make, regardless of whatever Ron and Harry decided to do. She had not spoken to the boys about it just yet; somehow, the subject of school seemed delicate and no one was willing to broach it.

Hermione realised her grandmother was waiting for an answer. "Um…not quite finished yet, no. I'm going back in the fall," she replied vaguely. She knew that she would return to Hogwarts when it re-opened in November, even though it would break her heart to go back alone. It would be especially difficult without Ron, for in her most private daydreams, Hermione had allowed herself to picture the two of them curled up together in front of the fire in Gryffindor common room, or walking down by the lake hand-in-hand…

There was another awkward silence. Hermione often felt as if she lived two separate lives - one as a witch, and the other as a Muggle. In the wizarding world she could be perfectly honest about both aspects of her life. In the Muggle world, however, she was forced to constantly lie about the things that were most important to her. Whenever family friends, old schoolteachers, or other adult acquaintances asked about her life, Hermione always found herself giving short or vague answers. Consequently, most people in her Muggle world probably thought she was dull, unenthusiastic and inarticulate. Sometimes she was forced to awkwardly make Muggle-worthy answers up on the spot, so it was also quite possible that several people thought she was an outright liar. This was, perhaps, one of the reasons that Hermione chose to spend so little time in the Muggle world.

"Have you decided which…" Grandma paused; it seemed she was searching for a word. "Which…_field_ you would like to pursue?"

Now she would have to lie to her grandmother, too. There was no way Hermione could possibly explain S.P.E.W. to Grandma or how she wanted to take it further. She wanted to study and learn about the customs of all magical creatures and beings, to understand and document their diverse cultures, and to fight for their rights in the wizarding world. Hermione cast around for a rough Muggle equivalent to this answer and, rather pathetically, could only come up with, "Zoology."

"Zoology?" Grandma Jean made a face. "What a tremendous waste of time. Come now, you need to go into something practical, Hermione."

Hermione noticed that Grandma suddenly could pronounce her name just fine. She began to suspect that Grandma deliberately mispronounced it just to annoy Dad, perhaps as punishment for naming his daughter something so obscure.

"Something practical? Like what?" asked Hermione, becoming frustrated with this sham of a conversation.

"Like _law_, for example," Grandma Jean said confidently.

Hermione frowned. "I'm much more interested in creat - that is, animals."

Grandma Jean gave her a curious look and then dropped the subject. They walked for several blocks in silence again, although Hermione had the oddest feeling that Grandma Jean wanted to say something but refrained from doing so.

Market Square was not far from Hermione's house, as they lived in the suburbs just outside the town centre. In the summer months, numerous stalls were jammed into the square every Monday, when the local farmers came in from the surrounding countryside to sell their produce. Little had changed in the years since Hermione had last visited Grisham Market. The stalls were packed together so tightly that the vendors hardly had any space in which to move. Noisy crowds of people were wandering through narrow, meandering aisles. The fruit stalls were a splash of colour, with fat, bright red strawberries, succulent looking peaches the size of one's fist, cherries, plums, raspberries, gooseberries, and all sorts of other good-looking fruits. Across from the fruit stalls were farmers selling fresh cheese, vegetables and even slabs of raw meat. There were also several tents set up selling a variety of knick-knacks. Closer to the centre of the square was a large, white tent with clothing and fabric hung up haphazardly, fluttering whenever a breeze came along. Hermione's parents had often taken her to the market when she was younger, and although she had not visited it in several years, she felt comfortable in the familiar chaos of Market Day.

"It's very noisy, isn't it?" said Grandma Jean, wrinkling her nose and frowning.

Hermione tried not to laugh at the expression on her grandmother's face. "I'll show you around, Grandma."

They walked up and down the rows of tents and stalls, stopping occasionally so Grandma could quiz a frightened-looking farmer about his cheeses or comment on the ugliness of a particular piece of fabric. After several minutes of this, Hermione was relieved when Grandma spotted the English friend for whom she had been looking. Grandma bustled off to say hello, while Hermione took the opportunity to sneak away for a few moments.

She wandered over to a rowdy group of children. They were crowded around a stall selling the brightly-coloured, cheaply made plastic toys that Hermione had always wanted when she was small. Her parents, of course, had always refused to buy them for her. Hermione picked up a little plastic figurine of a wizard and smiled. The figure was wearing a periwinkle robe with matching pointy hat, and possessed a funny Muggle rendition of a wand complete with a large yellow star stuck to the end of it.

"I haven't got any money Hannah, go ask Mum for a few quid if you want it."

The annoyed male voice sounded strangely familiar to Hermione. She turned around to find its source. Behind her stood a tall teenaged boy in obvious need of a proper haircut; his sandy blonde hair was so long in the front that it had almost grown past his eyes. There was something frustratingly familiar about him. A little girl with a gap in her two front teeth and the same sandy hair was tugging on the boy's arm, a pleading look in her eyes.

"But I don't know where Mummy is!" the little girl whined. "_Please_, Curtis, I want the dolly!"

His name brought an immediate flash of recognition, but before Hermione could make a quick getaway, he caught her looking at him. Behind the curtain of hair, his eyebrows knit together.

"Hey, don't I know you?" said Curtis slowly.

Hermione considered lying and making a break for it, but common courtesy won out. "Yes," she said shortly. "We went to school together."

"That's it," Curtis said, nodding. "Blimey, you look different. Didn't even recognise you at first! You're uh…" He snapped his fingers a few times, as if trying to summon her name.

"Hermione Granger."

"Right!" Curtis suddenly flushed pink with an embarrassed grin. "Right…'stranger than Granger'…"

Hermione felt her body stiffen. She pushed aside the memories that rose to the surface of her mind, and tried to will her cheeks to stop burning.

"Hey, sorry about all that," said Curtis sincerely. He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling apologetically. "We were like, kids, you know? Anyway, didn't you go off to some swotty public school? How's all that?"

"Fine," said Hermione coolly.

Curtis looked slightly taken aback by her shortness with him; he probably figured that he had apologised and that was that. "Oh, well…that's good," he said uncomfortably.

The sensible part of Hermione began to feel slightly guilty that she was giving Curtis the cold shoulder. After all, she had gone to school with him seven years ago, and it was a bit unfair to hold him accountable for the actions of his ten-year-old self. But before Hermione could make an effort at genuine conversation, Curtis' impatient-looking little sister piped up again.

"Curtis - I - want - to - find - Mummy!" Hannah said loudly.

"Sorry," Curtis said to Hermione. "I got stuck with my little sister. I only came to this thing to see if that guy is here selling pirated CD's."

"Well, good-bye," said Hermione.

"Right, it was uh…good to see you," Curtis said over his shoulder as his sister dragged him away.

Hermione let out a breath she had not been aware of holding, and wandered back over to Grandma Jean, who was chatting with a pudgy woman with a very large hat. Hermione politely said hello when Grandma introduced her, and waited patiently for them to finish their conversation.

"Hm, Marianne's got quite fat," said Grandma once her friend had waved goodbye and was out of earshot. She turned to Hermione. "I saw you talking to a boy, do you know him?"

"Just from primary school," said Hermione shortly. Grandma seemed to sense that she would get nothing more out of Hermione regarding the boy, so she let her be.

They spent another half-hour at the market, then Grandma developed a headache, so they headed home. They walked in silence again, in the quiet stillness of early evening. Despite her best efforts not to, Hermione could not help reflecting on certain childhood memories. She had not thought about them in a long time - after all, she'd had more important things on her mind lately - but her run-in with Curtis had forced the memories to surface again.

_She was eight years old and carrying an elaborate diorama out of the classroom to take home. Everyone else had left his or hers in the classroom, but Hermione was too proud of hers to leave it at school overnight. As she walked out into the hall, Jamie Irons and Curtis McNiven came barrelling out of the boys' toilet, bumping into her as they ran past. Hermione cried out as her diorama was knocked out of her arms. It fell to the floor with a horrible crash. She knelt down beside it and tried very hard not to cry when she saw that it was ruined. Jamie and Curtis kept running down the hall, laughing and calling her names. Hermione felt hurt and angry as she knelt on the cold floor of the hallway. Hatred for Jamie and Curtis boiled up inside of her. _

_The next day, the mystified teacher found Jamie's and Curtis' dioramas in bits and pieces, as if they had each been blown up by a very small bomb. Jamie and Curtis blamed Hermione, but she knew that she had not touched their work, she had only thought about it…_

_She was ten years old and sitting alone in the schoolyard with her back to a tree, contentedly reading a book. A shadow fell over the page she was reading and she looked up to see the meanest girl in school, Emma Lucas, standing there with a group of her friends. Emma started teasing Hermione about her hair. Hermione tried to ignore her, but she couldn't stop the hot tears welling up in her eyes. She found herself wishing desperately that her hair was like Emma's, all sleek and shiny and yellow. Hermione self-consciously ran a hand through her bushy brown hair. But then she pulled her hand away and was horrified to find that a handful of hair had come with it. Emma and her friends suddenly fell silent._

_"Did you just pull out your own hair?" Emma finally said, shocked and disgusted. "You are _so_ strange, Hermione Granger!"_

_All the commotion had caused several of the boys to wander over too. "Yeah, no one's stranger than Granger," Curtis McNiven quipped. Several of the other children laughed._

_"Stranger than Granger, stranger than Granger!" chanted her classmates. It was at this point that Hermione noticed something funny was happening to the brown hair in her fist. It was slowly turning yellow, and shiny, and straight._

_She leaped up and ran for the girls' toilet, locks of hair falling out as she ran. Once she got to the bathroom, she stared in horror at her reflection in the mirror; the hair still remaining on her head had begun to turn yellow, too. Confused and frightened, Hermione pulled her winter hat out of her knapsack and shoved it onto her head, then went to the school nurse and begged her to call her mother. Her hair did not turn back to normal until much later that night… _

_It was the summer before she turned twelve. One day a stern-looking woman arrived at the Granger's door. She handed them a sealed letter and told them she was from a school that was interested in having Hermione as a student. The Grangers were surprised but very pleased and invited the woman in for tea. She introduced herself as Professor McGonagall and explained that she was the Deputy Headmistress of a unique school in Scotland, which only accepted very special students, who showed certain talents. Then without changing tone or expression, she explained that it was a school to learn how to do magic and Hermione had been selected as a student because she showed magical abilities. Hermione's parents were confused because this kind of talk was quite clearly insane, and since Professor McGonagall did not seem mad, they thought that she was joking. Her parents laughed, but Hermione did not because she knew that Professor McGonagall was neither joking nor mad. The incidents with the dioramas and the hair and a hundred other strange happenings suddenly made sense. Hermione felt as if there had been a particularly difficult riddle that she had been trying to solve for years and had just figured out the answer. It was a wonderful feeling of relief and joy; Hermione would have hugged Professor McGonagall if it had not been clear that Professor McGonagall was not the hugging type. Hermione's parents began to get uncomfortable when Professor McGonagall continued going on about magic, and it was only after she had turned herself into a cat that they were shocked into listening…_

Hermione smiled at the last memory, remembering that fantastic feeling of finally understanding who and what she was. Professor McGonagall's visit had been the memory she had used to conjure her first Patronus.

"Well, here we are," said Grandma Jean as they approached Hermione's red brick house. "I do hope your mother had the sense to put a pot of tea on for us. I wouldn't mind some croissants, either, although they're absolutely horrid here in England. Oh, and Hermione, there seems to be a very large owl outside your bedroom window."

Hermione looked up sharply as they walked up the drive; there was indeed an official-looking post owl with glossy brown feathers hovering outside her closed bedroom window. Astonishingly, Grandma Jean said nothing more about the owl. She took off her wool coat as they entered the front hall, and wordlessly swept into the kitchen. Hermione, meanwhile, dashed up the stairs and into her bedroom. The post owl was almost certainly from Harry, who did not have the heart to replace Hedwig. It had to be urgent. After all, Hermione had spoken to Harry by Floo only that morning - she had taken measures to connect her parents' house to the Floo Network two years ago, in case of emergencies - and had specifically asked him not to send her any mail while her grandmother was visiting. The logical part of Hermione assured her that there was nothing to worry about. However, the emotional part of her, the part that had spent the last year fearing for the lives of her friends and family every day, could not help but feel a little bit worried.

Hermione quickly opened her window to allow the glossy brown owl in. It perched atop her packed white bookshelf and extended a leg towards her. Hermione hurriedly untied the letter, gave the owl a few Knuts that were hidden at the bottom of her dresser drawer, and sat down on the edge of her bed to read the letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Sorry that I had to send you an owl. I wasn't sure how else to get a hold of you save telephoning your house, and I didn't want you to go berserk over the phone or anything. I hope your grandmother didn't see the owl, I told him to be discreet._

"Very discreet, hovering outside my window," Hermione muttered. The owl, which had been preening itself atop Hermione's bookshelf, gave an indifferent hoot and flew out the open window. Hermione quickly returned to the letter; her heartbeat had quickened somewhat upon reading the part about going berserk.

_DO NOT PANIC BECAUSE EVERYTHING IS FINE. I just thought you should know that Ron ran into a little bit of trouble in Diagon Alley. He's fine now, apart from being a bit sore, but I wanted to write and tell you before you found out from anyone else. We'll probably have to report it to the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, so I'm sure it will get out somehow. Anyway, he's here with me at Grimmauld Place right now - I don't think he wants to go home and alarm Mrs Weasley just yet._

_Write back if you can,_

_Harry_

Hermione panicked, despite Harry's orders. She did not pause to think about her grandmother or parents downstairs. She turned on the spot and vanished.

Hermione Apparated onto the front steps of Grimmauld Place. The door was locked, so she banged impatiently until Harry pulled it open. He did not look surprised to see her.

"Will you keep it down, Hermione? You woke Mrs Black," Harry said wearily, as shouts of, "_Mudblood-lover! Unworthy filth! Thieving intruder!" _echoed behind him.

"Is he all right?" Hermione demanded, pushing past Harry and into the front hall. She winced in anticipation, expecting her tongue to roll back and the dust figure of Dumbledore to appear, but nothing happened. The curses must have disappeared upon Snape's death. Hermione began walking purposefully down the hall.

"He's fine, he's sleeping on the sofa in the drawing room," said Harry, following her. "Although you probably woke him up with all the banging…"

Ron was indeed awake; he was lying on the drawing room sofa, propped up on his elbows. Hermione noticed that he was holding himself rather stiffly, and that one side of his face was red and scratched up, as if it had been rubbed against something rough. He looked rather tired, but Hermione thought his face brightened when she walked into the room.

"Aw, Hermione you didn't have to come," said Ron, although he sounded quite pleased.

"What on earth happened?" Hermione exclaimed, hurrying over to sit down on the sofa next to Ron's feet.

Ron sighed and explained how he had followed a suspicious-looking man out of the twins' shop and chased him down Diagon Alley. He gave a brief synopsis of the attack, which ended with him being put in a Full Body Bind and left in Knockturn Alley.

"It was three bloody hours before some old witch found me, and even then she couldn't remember the spell to unfreeze me straight away," said a disgruntled Ron. He moved his head side to side a few times, wincing as his neck cracked. "You've no idea how uncomfortable it is to be paralysed like that. Your muscles feel all sore and stiff afterwards - "

"Actually, I do have an idea. I was Petrified for several weeks, if you remember," said Hermione curtly. She immediately regretted her unsympathetic tone. Hermione supposed she had expected worse and hearing Ron complain about aches and pains made her feel as if she had panicked over nothing.

"Oh…right," said Ron, abashed.

"The thing is," said Harry, who was sitting on a chair in front of the writing desk, "why did he attack you?"

Surprisingly, Hermione had not yet thought of this. It did seem rather odd for someone to randomly attack a joke shop proprietor.

Ron suddenly got quite fidgety. "Don't know," he said vaguely. "Some nutter, probably…"

"Did he say anything to you?" Harry demanded.

"Just, you know, the usual rubbish…"

"What's 'the usual rubbish'?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, and then sighed. "He just said something stupid about coming after the three of us."

Hermione felt as if someone had just poured a bucket of icy water down her back. She shivered and glanced at Harry, who looked livid.

"But…but who would be threatening us _now_?" Hermione said in a small voice.

"Haven't you seen today's paper?" Harry asked darkly.

"How could I? I haven't been getting owl post, remember?" said Hermione.

"Didn't have a chance to read it this morning…hey, where are you going?" Ron asked as Harry abruptly got up and disappeared out the door. Hermione looked over at Ron, who shrugged. They were quiet for a moment.

"Sorry I wasn't very sympathetic before," she said softly. "I wasn't really awake while _I_ was Petrified. I bet it was awful."

"Well…it was a bit tough," said Ron in a heroic sort of voice. He suddenly made a face. "Actually, the worst part of it was that this ruddy pigeon landed on my face about an hour in, and I couldn't do anything to get it off…"

Hermione laughed, and Ron grinned. They both ended up smiling rather stupidly at each other for awhile. Then Ron, whose ears had turned quite red, cleared his throat and said in a low voice, "Y'know what might make me feel better?"

Hermione suddenly realised that was one of the rare moments in which they had been left alone in the tumultuous last few weeks. Ron fumbled for her hand and she felt her heart get a little jumpstart; it started pounding twice as fast as usual.

"What's that?" Hermione whispered nervously as Ron's thumb brushed back and forth across her hand. It was a rhetorical question, of course. There was no mistaking the look in Ron's eyes, and she found herself leaning closer to him. The last time they had kissed seemed so long ago. It had been after Fred's funeral, the two of them out in the garden at The Burrow while everyone else was inside. The kiss had been passionate but clumsy; a desperate attempt at comfort, with Hermione's tears sliding down Ron's dry cheeks.

They moved closer, until their noses were almost touching - would it feel like this every time they would kiss, with her heart beating so fast it might burst? - but then came Harry's footsteps, and both of them pulled away before it could happen. Hermione tried to erase the look of disappointment on her face as Harry walked in, a newspaper in hand. He thrust it in front of them, and Hermione read the headline: _Another accident at Azkaban!_

"'Yet another so-called accident has occurred at Azkaban prison,'" read Harry as he paced back and forth across the drawing room. "'Sources at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies report that two of the recently-appointed Azkaban guards were brought in last night. The two wizards were badly hexed and Stunned. A representative from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement refused to confirm rumours that two prisoners are missing, but did remind citizens that certain other Dark wizards are still at large, and urged citizens to make sure that their homes are still well-protected. This incident comes after last week's supposed construction accident, in which another one of the Azkaban wizard guards was killed.'"

Harry stopped reading. There was a heavy silence for a moment, broken by Ron using a particularly foul swear word.

"I skimmed through it when I got home, but didn't have a chance to read the whole article until now. Nothing's changed, has it?" Harry said angrily. "The Ministry is still keeping things hush-hush, denying things that people have the right to know - "

"But Harry, Kingsley _is_ trying to turn things around," Hermione tried. "At least they're not using Dementors anymore, they know now that they can't be trusted…"

"Then there's Dolohov, did you hear about his trial?" Harry continued ranting. "He claimed to be Imperiused, that stupid old argument, and they're actually deliberating on it - "

"Is anyone else worried about the possible Death Eater escapees we may have on our hands?" Ron interrupted loudly. "One of whom may or may not have attacked me this afternoon?"

They all fell silent, remembering the reason that Harry had brought up the news article in the first place. Hermione's stomach twisted.

"But even if a few Death Eaters did escape," Hermione said slowly. "Are they really going to come after us? I mean, Voldemort is dead, that much is obvious. There's no one to rally behind. The Death Eaters are finished."

"Are they, though?" asked Harry grimly. "A few escape from Azkaban, start to get their self-confidence back…maybe they meet up with their old Death Eater buddies, the ones who were never captured. Then they start thinking that whoever can do what Voldemort never could - get rid of me - would make a good leader, a better leader, one who could succeed where Voldemort failed…"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, appalled by his way of thinking.

"And they come after us, too, because we're a packaged deal and all," said Ron with a bitter smile. "So why didn't the bloke just off me then, in Knockturn Alley?"

"Ron!" cried Hermione, feeling sick.

"I suppose that might have been too bold," said Harry thoughtfully. "He obviously wanted you to stop following him, but murdering someone only yards away from Diagon Alley would have probably drawn more attention than one would like after recently escaping from Azkaban. I mean, a dead body is obviously going to warrant some pretty serious investigation. Knockturn Alley is rough, but not that rough."

The calm, pensive tone Harry was using to refer to his friend's theoretical dead body made Hermione feel even sicker. Furthermore, the ease with which Harry seemed to get into the Death Eaters' mindsets was frightening.

"The real question, though," continued Harry, "is if he didn't want to kill you, why was he in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in the first place?"

But no one seemed to have an answer to that question.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** This time I have to give an extra special thank you to my beta, **nundu**, who patiently re-betaed this chapter after losing it to the unforgiving wrath of Microsoft Word. Thanks as always to everyone who has read and reviewed this story so far. Your comments are very helpful and you give me the enthusiasm to keep writing! 


	5. Chapter 4: The Birthday After the Battle

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 4: The Birthday After the Battle**

Harry had not felt this nervous in some time. His palms were sweaty and his body was stiff. He stood rigidly, afraid to stir, lest a small shift in movement cause some damage to the fragile thing he carried. He held it awkwardly, unsure of how to support it, and his heart was knocking so loudly against his ribs that he was sure everyone could hear it.

"For heaven's sake, Harry, he's a baby, not a bomb," said Ginny.

She moved forward and scooped the baby from Harry's arms. Ginny's movements seemed easy and confident as she arranged little Teddy Lupin in her own arms, allowing the baby to settle his head comfortably in the nook between her arm and her elbow. Ginny smiled down at him and tickled his stomach. Teddy happily kicked his small, sock-clad feet in the air. As he kicked, the soft fuzz on his head turned red like Ginny's hair, and a few freckles popped into existence on his small nose.

"I think he likes you," Harry said, peering down at his godson.

"That's because I'm not holding him like I'm afraid he's going to bite."

"I just don't want to drop him or hurt his head," said Harry apprehensively. "Don't babies have fragile heads?"

"Well, maybe he'll be lucky and have a thick head like his godfather," said Ginny breezily. She smiled teasingly at Harry. As if on cue, Teddy began giggling madly.

They were standing in Harry's garden, with their backs to the cottage and the lush forest sprawled in front of them. The people that Harry cared about most had come to Arbour Glen for a celebration that was a mix of his birthday and a housewarming party. Several tables and chairs had been dragged out to the garden and were filled with people. Hermione had put tiny, twinkling lights up in the branches of several trees. Ron had hung up a banner between two trees that proclaimed _Happy Birthday Harry!_ in slightly sloppy lettering. Occasionally, a hand-drawn cartoon figure on a broomstick whizzed across the banner.

It was difficult to believe that a year had passed since his last birthday party at the Burrow. It seemed half a lifetime ago, yet at the same time it felt like only yesterday. The festivities today had been fairly light-hearted; it was the first birthday in awhile that Harry had not felt the threat of Voldemort looming over the day. But despite the celebratory spirit of the party, there were sharp reminders of the price they had paid for freedom. Mrs Weasley seemed falsely cheerful and distracted; she kept busying herself with things that she did not need to do, such as cleaning out Harry's pantry. George had wished Harry a happy birthday with none of the usual joking and merriment, then had begun wandering around the garden, as if at a loss for what to do at a party without his twin. Mrs Tonks had spent the better part of the evening fussing over Teddy, keeping a worried eye on him as he was passed around to his many admirers. This was perhaps another reason for Harry's nervousness with the baby. At the moment, it appeared that Mrs Tonks was talking to Hagrid; however, Harry could see her vigilantly watching Ginny out of the corner of her eye. Of all of them, Mrs Tonks had probably lost the most - her husband, her daughter, and her son-in-law, all in a few short months. It was no wonder she clung to Teddy; he was all she had left in the world.

Harry watched Ginny play with his godson, feeling content and full, having just enjoyed Mrs Weasley's succulent feast. Now, in the soft, golden glow of early evening, people were milling about, talking, and entertaining themselves. Mr Weasley was attempting to perform a Muggle card trick for Hermione, who was trying her best to be supportive as he repeatedly failed to make the trick work. Ron and Neville had sat down to a game of chess at one of the long, wooden tables. Percy was engaged in conversation with the most unlikely pair of people - Luna and her father - and for once, he looked to be at a loss for words. Fleur kept striding up to groups of people with Bill in tow in order to show everyone the photographs from their recent trip to France. George was sitting alone by the pond, and Mrs Weasley was keeping herself busy by gathering empty dishes and taking them inside. This task could have easily been accomplished by magic, but Mrs Weasley seemed intent on doing it by hand.

"Mum, come here for a second," Ginny called to her mother, who stopped halfway between the tables and the back door with an armful of dirty dishes. "Look how good Teddy has got at morphing!"

Mrs Weasley walked over with a small smile on her tired face, and peered down at the freckle-faced Teddy. She was silent for a moment.

"My, you are a beautiful boy," she said softly, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Here Mum, let me take those. You hold him."

They did a juggling act with the dishes and Teddy, during which Harry tried not to panic. He kept glancing nervously over at Mrs Tonks. The baby was successfully transferred to Mrs Weasley's arms. Almost immediately, it seemed that the years she appeared to have aged in the last few months simply melted away. Teddy played his part magnificently, with much smiling and delighted giggling. He seemed to have been born for the sole purpose of making everyone happy. Harry smiled sadly at his godson, feeling a sudden, dull pang of grief for Teddy's parents, who would never see the joy that their son brought to everyone around him. Thinking of Remus and Tonks got Harry thinking about his parents, then Sirius, and then Dumbledore and Fred and everyone else who deserved to be alive, celebrating freedom and a world without Voldemort. The knowledge that they were gone, all of them, often came in painful flashes. Although memories of Sirius still surfaced frequently, over time the grief had faded into a dull feeling in his chest, and Harry had found it easier to allow himself to think of his godfather. The people that they had just recently lost in the Battle, though - that was still too fresh to think about so often. Harry struggled to push thoughts of Remus and Tonks to the back of his mind.

"Harry," said Ginny, breaking through his thoughts. "Want to help me bring these inside?"

Ginny obviously did not need any help bringing a few dirty dishes into the kitchen, but Harry knew better than to point this out. He bent over his godson, who was lounging contentedly in Mrs Weasley's arms, and affectionately - but carefully - rubbed one of Teddy's chubby little fingers in farewell. Harry then turned and followed Ginny into the house.

The sun was beginning to set; its last rays were entering the house and making each room come alive with an orange glow. As he followed Ginny, Harry looked around at his home, which was still relatively uncluttered and bare. Ron and Kreacher - a bizarre but effective team - had recently helped Harry move from Grimmauld Place into Arbour Glen. Kreacher's strange, powerful magic had been a great help. The house-elf could disappear and take several items with him at a time using magic that neither Harry nor Ron understood. Consequently, the move had been easy, and Harry had settled into the house quickly. However, he still felt somewhat out-of-place at Arbour Glen. He was still getting used to the idea of a house that was peaceful and quiet and all his own.

Harry followed Ginny into the kitchen, where she dumped the dishes in the sink and turned to face him, leaning back against the kitchen counter. The window behind her allowed the setting sun to strike her hair, which blazed a fiery red. Her lips looked dark and full against her pale face. Harry felt his mouth go dry. Was it all right, now, to be with her? Could he finally let himself be happy?

Without invitation, the worries lurking at the edges of his mind burst forth: the attack on Ron in Diagon Alley, the escaped Death Eaters and the ones still at large, the problems at the Ministry and the trials which never seemed to be simple and straightforward…

"Do you remember what I got you for your birthday last year?" Ginny asked, staring very steadily at him.

"How could I forget?" Harry replied hoarsely.

Ginny took a step forward. "I didn't know what to get you this year, either."

"Honestly, I think last year might be hard to top."

A smile played on her lips. Harry's stomach was doing somersaults and his fingers were tingling. Ginny's hair was blazing from the light of the sun, and her eyes were blazing with an intense energy. He wanted very badly to kiss her, but something made him refrain.

Ginny seemed to sense his hesitation, because she frowned and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing…it's just…"

"It's over now, Harry," she said quietly. "You don't have to be afraid for me anymore."

How could he explain that it might not be over, that it could never be over? In a startling moment of clarity, Harry realized that although he had bought this house, although he wanted to relax and be worry-free, that could never be his life. He'd had enough trouble for a lifetime, yet it was not enough. Harry had spent the last seven years fighting Darkness. He would continue to fight, because it was right and because it was the only thing he knew.

"I think I want to apply to be an Auror," Harry blurted out.

Ginny looked surprised for only a moment, the faintest glimmer of disappointment evident in her eyes. She sighed, then quickly adapted to the turn of the conversation. "Well, you might have to get a few N.E.W.T's first," she said pointedly.

"Maybe I could…you know, skip that."

"What, just because you defeated Voldemort?" said Ginny brazenly.

"Well…yes."

Ginny sighed again. "No one's arguing that you're more than capable when it comes to Defence Against the Dark Arts. But I'm not sure defeating Voldemort qualifies you for the required Transfiguration N.E.W.T." There was a bite of sarcasm in her voice.

There suddenly came a muffled shout of Harry's name from outside. He looked helplessly at Ginny. She had her hands on her hips and her face was expressionless. Harry felt abysmally stupid; he had ruined the moment and made Ginny angry. After weeks of uncertainty between them, he had missed his chance to finally solidify their relationship.

"I think they're ready for cake," said Ginny flatly.

Harry desperately tried to think of something to do or say, but the moment had passed. Ginny swept out of the kitchen and Harry followed her, feeling incredibly idiotic.

* * *

**  
Author's Notes**: Thanks, as always, to my beta, nundu. This was a relatively short chapter after a relatively long absence on my part, but I promise the chapter after this one will be on the way soon! Hope everyone enjoyed the baby Teddy Lupin cameo, which bizarrely, was predicted by a particularly savvy reviewer last chapter. Well done!

Thank you for continuing to read and review!


	6. Chapter 5: A Grown Up

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 5: ****A Grown-Up**

Ron had beat Neville at chess twice now. The black chess pieces that Neville was using were beginning to get disgruntled. Neville, however, took it all in a stride. He cheerfully continued to send most of his pieces to their doom and pretended not to notice when one of his bishops called him a rude name.

Ron had been on edge ever since the attack in Knockturn Alley, but at the moment felt somewhat relaxed. He was actually enjoying himself - after all, there had been little time for things like chess in the past couple of years.

"Hey," Ron said conversationally as he took one of Neville's pawns, "did you know you're on a Chocolate Frog card?"

Neville grinned and blushed. "I know. Gran's bought loads and loads of Chocolate Frogs so that she can collect as many of my cards as possible and give them to all of her friends. It was great at first, but now I'm kind of getting sick of Chocolate Frogs." He moved another pawn forward, right into danger from Ron's knight. "We've got a couple of cards of you, actually. I could send you one, if you want."

"Brilliant, thanks."

Ron took another of Neville's pawns and looked up from the chessboard at his former dormitory-mate. There were a few scars on Neville's face from his run-ins with the Carrows, as well as some fading bruises. A shiny patch of pink skin was visible near his hairline; Neville had been able to grow back most of the hair that had been burned off by the flaming Sorting Hat, but the burns remained. Ron glanced down at his own arms, which still bore the burns from the enchanted treasure in Gringotts. He quickly tore his gaze away from his scarred arms and focused back on Neville.

"So…are you going back to Hogwarts next year?" Ron asked.

"Actually, even though I spent a lot of last year making trouble for the Carrows, then hiding in the Room of Requirement, Professor McGonagall advised me to take my N.E.W.T's in September," Neville answered. "Herbology, Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms. I've been studying all summer. You see…I've been offered a job."

Neville's face glowed with pride; he did not even notice as Ron took his foul-mouthed bishop.

"Really?" Ron said in surprise. "I mean…that's great, Neville! Where?"

"I'm going to be working with Brij Branti," Neville explained. "He's a herbologist who does research on the medicinal and healing properties of certain plants. His laboratory is funded by St. Mungo's. I'll just be a research assistant, mind you…"

"That's really great, Neville," Ron said, and he meant it. At the same time, however, he could not help but feel a bit jealous. Neville had a purpose, a plan for the future. Ron had Pygmy Puffs and shop inspections. Stifling a sigh, Ron reminded himself that he had chosen to take on responsibility for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Until George was himself again, Ron had to see it through.

"Thanks," Neville replied, beaming. He glanced down at the chessboard bemusedly. "Oh, I think you just put me in check."

Hermione suddenly rushed over, her cheeks flushed and her hair coming loose from the braid she'd tried to put it in. Ron forgot the chess game he was about to win and became very interested in the little strands of hair that curled around her ears and at the nape of her neck.

"Have you seen Harry?" she asked urgently.

"I think he went inside," Ron said.

Hermione relaxed. "Good." She took out her familiar beaded handbag, the one that had housed all their belongings for nearly a year. Hermione began rummaging around in it. "I spent all morning baking a cake for him - and I couldn't use magic at all because my grandmother wouldn't leave the kitchen. I want to surprise him with it when he comes outside."

Hermione pulled a pristine, three-layer chocolate cake out of the handbag. Ron, who was accustomed to the strange inner workings of Hermione's handbag, did not bat an eyelash. Neville gaped.

Hermione pulled out candles and hurriedly began sticking them in the cake. "Come over here, everyone," she called over her shoulder. Conversations trailed off and wrapped up as Harry's guests began making their way over. With a wave of Hermione's wand, the candles on the cake burst to life. Little Teddy Lupin, sitting in his grandmother's arms, gurgled in delight.

"Harry!" Ron bellowed at the house. "Come out here for a second."

Moments later, Ginny emerged from the house, followed by Harry. Ron thought that both of them looked a bit down, but Harry's face quickly split into a grin as Hagrid launched into a very loud, very off-tune rendition of _Happy birthday to you_. Everyone else joined in. When they finished, Harry leaned forward to blow out the candles. There was enthusiastic applause, and then Teddy began to cry, so Hermione lit another candle and offered it to him, miming blowing it out. Teddy stared quizzically at her, not quite sure what was expected of him, and he looked so funny that everyone burst into laughter. Ron's spirits lifted at the sound of laughter; for a moment it seemed that they would get by after all, in this world that lacked so many of their loved ones.

After everyone had cake and things had quieted down a bit, Ron snuck up behind Hermione and whispered, "Walk?" in her ear. The two of them quietly slipped away from the party, walking through Harry's house and out the front gate. They headed down the road with no particular destination in mind, enjoying the beauty of the forest in twilight.

"So your grandmother's still staying with you?" Ron asked after they had walked in comfortable silence for a few moments.

Hermione made a face. "Unfortunately. She sat in the kitchen all morning watching me try to bake that cake and criticising everything I did. Then she started going on about how I haven't gone for my provisional license yet."

"License to what?"

"To drive a car," Hermione explained patiently. "Muggles have to go for a provisional license, then pass a theory exam, and then pass a practical driving test." She sighed. "I really should go for it, because you never know when it will come in handy to be able to drive a car, but I've always been rubbish at practical exams. I _know_ what to do, but I can never seem to do it properly - remember the Boggart in second year?"

Ron did not really see the point in a practical driving test; after all, he had driven the flying Ford Anglia with relatively few problems, excluding that bit with the Whomping Willow. Furthermore, he had a hard time believing that Hermione was rubbish at any kind of exam. He concluded that she was just running herself down, as usual. After all, one did not get an O in Potions, Charms, and Herbology by being rubbish at practicals.

"Well, you could always just Confund the examiner," Ron suggested teasingly.

"Ron!" Hermione shook her head at him, but the corners of her mouth were upturned in a smile. "Remind me to never let you take a driving test."

Their hands kept brushing against each other as they walked along, until their fingers entwined. Ron felt a warmness spread through him as he continued walking with Hermione's small hand in his.

"So Neville's not going back to Hogwarts," Ron said. "He's taking the N.E.W.T's in September." He briefly related everything Neville had told him.

"That's wonderful! Good for Neville!" Hermione exclaimed. "I'm sure he's had to do intense revision this summer to prepare for the N.E.W.T's, though - I mean, he spent all that time in the Room of Requirement last year, didn't he?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Ron agreed distractedly. He paused, and then slowly said, "Do you think…maybe…that McGonagall would let us do our N.E.W.T's in September, too?"

Hermione walked in silence for a moment, chewing her bottom lip as she considered the question. "Ron, we didn't go to school at all last year," Hermione reasoned. "Neville was at least at Hogwarts. He went to most classes. I'm sure he learned nothing in the subjects the Carrows were teaching, but he's not taking N.E.W.T's in those, is he?"

"It's just…now I have the twins' shop to worry about," Ron said, feeling frustrated. "If I need to go back to school, I don't know what's going to happen to the place."

"George should be taking care of it."

"He doesn't want to."

"It's not your responsibility," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "You need to finish your education, Ron."

Ron suddenly felt an inexplicable urge to defend his brother and the shop that he had initially wanted so little part in. "Yeah, well, I told George that I would handle it for awhile, and I will. Besides, that shop's my family's biggest source of income."

Hermione stopped walking. Ron felt a chill as Hermione abruptly released his hand and stared at him in disbelief.

"You don't want to go back to Hogwarts because you want to run the twins' joke shop?"

"Maybe, yeah," Ron said defensively.

"Ron," said Hermione patiently, "you can't possibly take the N.E.W.T's now. We haven't learned Elemental Transfiguration, or how to brew Veritaserum, or how to do an Anti-Disapparition Jinx…"

"Well, maybe I just won't take the N.E.W.T's at all, then."

"I thought you wanted to be an Auror!"

_I don't know what I want_, Ron thought to himself.

Hermione stood across from him with her arms folded over her chest. She seemed to be waiting for him to say or do something. "So you're not coming back to Hogwarts," she said finally. Her voice trembled a bit, and Ron wondered why she was taking the discussion so personally.

"I don't know," Ron shrugged.

"Well, you'd better decide, because I'm going back with or without you," Hermione said very quickly. She sounded as if she was fighting back tears.

Ron suddenly understood. "Hermione…"

"It's getting late, I should go home before my parents and Grandma get back from the theatre," Hermione said stiffly. "I'm going back to the party to say goodbye to Harry."

Hermione turned on her heel and started striding back to Harry's. Ron was left standing alone, wondering if he should chase after her or not. He wished fervently that he had his copy of _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ with him.

He could not believe how thick he had been; of course Hermione would be going back to Hogwarts, and of course she had expected him to go back with her. She must have taken his unwillingness to return as a personal rejection. Part of him _did_ want to go back to Hogwarts. He wanted to go back to Gryffindor Tower and the Great Hall and the Quidditch pitch. He wanted to see Hermione every morning at breakfast and spend cozy nights with her in the common room. Most importantly, in his most private thoughts he still hoped he could maybe be an Auror, and to do so would indeed require finishing school and getting a few N.E.W.T's.

On the other hand, if he returned to Hogwarts it meant the end of the joke shop. George was still not ready to assume responsibility for the shop again and Ron could not leave Verity and Allegra to flounder on their own. But there was another reason he was wary about returning to Hogwarts. He knew it would be hard to go back, considering what had happened in the school. The castle would never be the same; unpleasant memories would haunt the halls. Truth be told, Ron was just not sure he had the courage to walk pass the place Fred had died every day.

Frustrated and confused, Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and started wandering further up the road. His right palm was still warm from having Hermione's hand in his. It was too late to chase after her now. He would just look stupid.

"BOO!"

A small figure jumped out of the bushes at the side of the road. Ron stumbled backward, ears ringing and heart thumping wildly, his mind flashing back to the incident in Knockturn Alley. He was halfway through pulling his wand from his pocket when the small figure stepped out of the shadows. The round-faced little boy from the forest grinned up at him, looking very pleased with himself.

"What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?" Ron yelled. His fingers relaxed around his wand, which he dropped back into his pocket, and his heart began to slow.

"Nope. I'm pretending to be a ghost who haunts the forest. Did I scare you?" the little boy asked hopefully.

"Not at all," Ron said sarcastically. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the wobbliness in his knees that followed an adrenaline rush.

"I saw that girl leave. Is she your _girlfriend_?" the boy asked, making a face.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Ron muttered under his breath. "Look, it's almost dark. Shouldn't you be getting home?"

The brief scare had returned his thoughts to the attack in Knockturn Alley, and had reminded him that there were still Death Eaters about. It was not safe for children to be wandering around secluded country roads at night. Ron involuntarily shuddered.

"I live just up there," the boy said, pointing down the road. Through the trees, Ron could make out a big red farmhouse a few yards up the road. "Besides, Granny said to be home _before_ dark. There's still a little light out. I was going to go exploring in the forest…"

"No, you are not going to go exploring in the ruddy forest," Ron said firmly. "It's almost dark and I don't want it to be my fault if you end up getting lost in there and then eaten by a giant spider or something."

"There are giant spiders in the forest?!" the boy shouted, wide-eyed.

"No," Ron said quickly. "It's, er…a figure of speech. Come on, I'll walk you up the road."

The boy scrambled to follow Ron as he started walking away. His short legs had to work hard to keep up with Ron's long strides. "What's your name?" the boy asked conversationally once he had fallen into step beside Ron.

Ron sighed heavily. "Ron."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Do you live around here?"

"No, I'm just visiting a friend…what is this, an interrogation?" Ron asked grumpily.

"I'm five and a half," the boy announced, kicking a pebble up the road as they walked. "I used to live in Swindon but now I live here with Granny and Grandpa. They're nice, but kind of old so they can't really play with me a lot. Hey, are you a grown-up?"

Ron shrugged.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, then?"

"I wish I knew," Ron said truthfully, his thoughts returning to N.E.W.T's and the joke shop.

"I want to be a police officer when I grow up," the boy said. "Or an astronaut. Or a king. I know we have a queen right now, but I think it would be okay to have a king too, don't you?" He looked worriedly up at Ron.

Ron was not quite sure what to say. "Er…yeah, I suppose."

They arrived at the red farmhouse. The property was large and looked very well-kept. A wooden building, probably a barn, could be seen on the edges of the property. The grass was cut short and the trees and hedges were well-manicured. The front porch was bare except for a porch swing, which creaked as it gently swayed back and forth in the mild breeze. Looking somewhat out-of-place was a black and white toy car, lying forlornly in the dirt of the little flowerbed that bordered the front porch.

The boy started up the drive and stopped next to the big Muggle vehicle which was parked there. Ron thought it might be called a tractor, and noted in the back of his mind that his father would probably be fascinated by it.

"Are you going to come back here to visit your friend soon?" the boy asked, glancing back at Ron hopefully.

Ron considered lying for a moment, but then found himself saying, "Yeah…I come to visit quite a lot, actually."

The boy smiled widely. "Good! Maybe we can play together sometime."

"Er…"

"Okay, bye!" the boy said happily. He started running up the long, gravel drive towards the house.

Ron felt a bit bewildered by the entire encounter. He did not know as much as he probably should about Muggles and knew even less about small children. Suddenly, Ron realized that he did not even know the boy's name.

"Oi!" Ron shouted after him. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Hugh!" the boy called over his shoulder, jumping onto the front porch. He gave a final wave and then disappeared into the house, banging the screen door behind him. 

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Another short chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks, as always, to my beta, nundu. And thank you all for continuing to read and review! I'm especially curious to know what everyone thinks about Hugh.


	7. Chapter 6: Eavesdropping

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 6: Eavesdropping**

The morning after Harry's birthday party dawned dark and cloudy. Hermione could hear rain drumming against her bedroom window when she woke. She swung her legs off the bed and padded over to open her curtains, revealing an overcast sky and raindrops streaming down the window. It was the sort of morning that made Hermione consider simply going back to sleep. She looked at her bed longingly, sighed, and reluctantly started getting ready for the day. The sort-of-fight she had had with Ron the previous night popped into her head as she was making her bed, and she felt a new kinship with the gloomy weather.

After getting dressed, Hermione headed downstairs and into the darkened kitchen, giving a distant 'Good morning' to her parents. She poured herself a drink and settled down at the kitchen table, staring broodingly into her glass of orange juice. Dad was munching on a bit of toast and reading the newspaper, while Mum stared out the window at the rain, absently stirring a cup of coffee. Her parents were both dressed smartly; they were going into their dental office today to interview potential new receptionists. Natalya, their old receptionist, had politely declined the Grangers' offer of re-employment and a pay raise. It turned out that she had begun dating the chiropractor for whom she was now working. Dad, who did not like changes, had been grumbling about this chiropractor for the past few days.

"Good morning," said Grandma Jean briskly, sweeping into the kitchen. Hermione was startled out of her brood by Grandma's presence; she had nearly forgotten her grandmother was still staying with them.

Grandma paused by the window, pulling her black shawl tighter around her shoulders and frowning. "This English weather…it's always miserable."

Hermione heard her father mutter something about not being offended if she wanted to go back to France, where he was sure it was very sunny.

"Hermione, will you go get the post?" Mum asked, sitting down next to Dad at the kitchen table. "I'm expecting a letter from the township; we've had to renew some papers for parking at the office."

"It's _raining_, Helen," Grandma pointed out, as if it was scandalous to suggest going out in the rain.

"Well, I'm sure Hermione knows how to use an umbrella," said Mum coolly.

Hermione obeyed and left the kitchen before anyone could get snippy. It seemed that she was not the only one in a grumpy mood this morning. Hermione sighed as she put her shoes on, remembering the argument with Ron last night. It had really been pointless. After the row, she had stalked back to Arbour Glen indignantly, half-expecting Ron to come after her. Of course, he hadn't. Sighing again, Hermione pulled open the front door and stepped out into the gloom.

The clouds overhead were black and plump with rain. The sky was a miserable grey, and the air felt stiflingly muggy. Large, warm raindrops splattered on Hermione's arms as soon as she left the shelter of her front porch. No one else was outside, save for one very dedicated jogger plodding up the street. Satisfied that he was not paying attention to her, Hermione surreptitiously took out her wand and performed an Impervious Charm on herself, just for the simple pleasure of doing magic, then walked to the end of the driveway and grabbed a stack of envelopes from the post-box. Raindrops bounced off her as she rifled through the letters. Hermione started as she came across a cream-coloured envelope, which was addressed to her in all-too familiar handwriting.

Slowly Hermione walked back inside and into the kitchen, distractedly dropping the pile of mail in front of her mother. Hermione returned to her spot at the table with her letter in hand. She ripped it open, trying to fathom how on earth it had ended up in their post-box.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I'm really sorry I was such a git last night. I really do want to go back to Hogwarts if I can. I especially want to be able to see you all the time next year. This whole business with the twins' shop and the nutter in Knockturn Alley and whatnot has just got my head all messed up. Anyway, I'm sorry again that I was inconsiderate last night. I should have been more sensitive to your feelings._

_Ron_

_P.S. I bet you're wondering how I got a letter into your Muggle letterbox. I found a picture of one and showed it to Pig, and I told him to drop the letter straight in there. He delivered it overnight, so your grandmother wouldn't see. Clever, aren't I?_

By the time she finished the letter, a smile had crept onto Hermione's face and her spirits had lifted considerably. She read the letter again, feeling a rush of affection for Ron. Not only was this the best apology she had ever received from him, but the sentences before his signature was unusually eloquent. Hermione had a strong suspicion that a book entitled _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_, which she had found in Ron's room while packing his clothes last summer, had something to do with it. Hermione could not stop the giggle that escaped her.

"What's so funny, Hermione?" her father asked, flipping a page in his newspaper.

"Nothing, it's just a letter from Ron."

"Who is _Ron_?" Grandma Jean asked sharply, her head jerking up.

"Oh, only a friend from school," said Hermione casually, but under Grandma Jean's piercing stare, she felt her cheeks grow hot.

"Only a friend?" said Grandma sceptically. Now Mum and Dad had stopped what they were doing and were watching Hermione closely as well. Hermione's face got warmer; her parents knew that Ron was a good friend, like Harry, but as far as they knew their daughter's relationships with both boys were strictly platonic.

"Well, yes," Hermione said in a rather high-pitched voice, buttering her toast quite violently, "that is, a very good friend, with whom I have a…a…well, never mind. Pass the juice, Dad?"

No one pursued it after that, but Grandma Jean looked somewhat amused as she finished her breakfast, and her parents kept exchanging heavy looks.

The morning passed in silence. Hermione's parents left for the office, where they apparently met little success, because both were even more bad-tempered when they returned home. Dad shut himself up in his study and Mum took her knitting into the conservatory, making it clear that she did not want to be disturbed. Grandma disappeared into the attic, saying something about looking for old photos, and Hermione was left to read in her room, which was fine by her. Her bed was not as good a reading place as the window seat in the conservatory, but with the curtains drawn, the patter of rain on her bedroom window, and Crookshanks' warm, furry body nestled next to her, Hermione felt very cosy. She pulled out _A Comprehensive History of Magical Beings_ and continued reading where she had last left off, a chapter on ancient house-elf laws.

_The making and enforcement of laws was done solely by an elected council of elves, all members of the patriarchal family. The council alone judged and sentenced accused lawbreakers. Interestingly, there is evidence that lawbreakers were sent to a form of house-elf prison, although the location and structure of these prisons is unknown. However, written accounts from the first wizards to encounter ancient house-elf society make reference to "extraordinary magic from these creatures, and a form of imprisonment that is far beyond our prisons of mortar and stone"…_

Though the content of the book interested her greatly, Hermione found herself reading passages twice without comprehending a thing. Her mind was on the letter carefully stowed away in the top drawer of her desk. Hermione finally got up, displacing poor Crookshanks, who paced about in a circle on her bed before slumping back down on the covers to sleep. She took out the letter and read it again, smiling at the sweet bluntness of Ron's writing, laughing at the unusually well-phrased lines before his signature. Hermione thought back to the awkward conversation with her parents and Grandma Jean at breakfast. Over the past little while, she had been unsure of how to define her slowly shifting relationship with Ron, but now she realized it did not really matter. They were together; definitions were unnecessary. She smiled again and placed the letter carefully back into its envelope.

Lunchtime was approaching and Hermione's stomach had begun to growl, so she headed down the stairs and into the kitchen to fix a sandwich. Strangely, the kitchen was empty, which was unusual at lunch hour. She opened the refrigerator and poked around, gathering up lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese.

"Mum!" she called loudly. "Dad! I'm making sandwiches; does either of you want one? Grandma Jean?" She guiltily added her grandmother as an afterthought.

Hermione listened for a response, but all she heard was muffled talking coming from the direction of her father's study. She dropped her sandwich materials on the counter and left the kitchen, heading down the hallway towards the study. Although still muffled, her parents' voices became intelligible as she approached the closed door of the study.

" - things like this. I just don't know how to approach her."

Hermione had been about to call out for her parents again, but something about her mother's tone made the words die in her throat. She ignored her conscience, which was strongly recommending that she go back into the kitchen and make herself a nice sandwich, and sidled closer to the study door.

"It was just a letter, Helen."

"I know, but did you see her face when your mother asked her about it? I think she's seeing this boy, and we've met him…twice?" Mum sighed. "We used to talk all the time when she was younger. We'd talk about everything. And now she probably has a boyfriend - we've let her stay over at his house, Greg! - and she hasn't said a word about it to either of us."

"She's a teenager, they keep secrets." Dad's voice was rational and soothing. "I didn't tell _my_ mother about you until we'd been dating for a year."

"You think I'm like your mother?" Mum sounded horrified.

"Good God, no!" Dad, too, sounded horrified at the thought.

"I just…" The frustration in Mum's voice was palatable. "I just don't know her any more, and the boyfriend thing, it's silly really, but it's just more proof of her shutting us out. I feel like I've lost my daughter to these other people, to that…that _world_. We don't belong in it. She's made it perfectly clear. She spends all her time at that school, and then when she's not in school, she doesn't come home. How many summers has she spent with the Weasley's? How many Christmas breaks has she stayed at school?"

Hermione could hear her mother's footsteps as she paced back and forth across the study. "And then…I know, I know she thought she was protecting us, but she put us under a…a _spell_ or something, Greg. We didn't even have a warning. We couldn't even talk her out of it. She just did it, and we weren't ourselves for a _year_, how am I supposed to understand that?" Mum's voice broke as she let out a sob.

There was the sound of a chair scraping against the hardwood floor, followed by Dad's heavy footsteps. "Helen, honey…"

Mum sobbed again. Her voice trembled as she said, "I try so hard but I don't understand her. I can't understand, and I'm afraid of what she can do. How horrible is it, to be afraid of your own daughter?"

Hermione stumbled as she backed away from the study. She felt very cold, and her heart was thundering in her ears. She turned around and nearly jumped out of her skin with fright. There in the hallway stood Grandma Jean, watching her. Neither of them said anything. Hermione waited, expecting Grandma to lecture her about eavesdropping or manners. Grandma Jean, however, quietly said, "I've sliced up some tomato," and then turned and walked back into the kitchen.

Hermione stared after her grandmother, and then slowly followed her into the kitchen. It was only after they had both eaten their sandwiches in silence, and she was back in her room lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling, that it occurred to Hermione that Grandma Jean may have overheard her parents' conversation as well.


	8. Chapter 7: The Foot

**Chapter 7: The Foot**

Harry sat at the wooden table in the kitchen of Arbour Glen, staring perplexedly down at the sheet of parchment in front of him. In several places he had neatly filled the little white boxes with writing - name, date of birth, address, school attended - but the rest of the parchment was still blank. He had dutifully written out all of the O.W.L's he had achieved, but the N.E.W.T. box remained empty. He did not know what to write in the little box which demanded the year he had finished school, or if he should write anything there at all. After several minutes of staring at blank spaces and fighting a mounting feeling of frustration, Harry made the decision to move on to the essay questions and deal with the empty boxes later. Unfortunately, the essay questions were proving just as difficult to answer. Harry tapped the end of his quill against the table and tried to focus on the first question.

_Describe, in 200 words or less, any previous experiences that would qualify you for this position, __particularly in practical defence, or any other field relating to the tracking and capturing of Dark witches and wizards._

Harry almost began to write something, then considered how supremely stupid it would look if he were to list defeating Voldemort as a qualifying experience. He fidgeted in his chair and decided to leave that question for later, too.

_Describe, in 200 words or less, the qualities you possess that would make you a suitable candidate for the Auror training program._

Harry stared at this question for awhile, then threw his quill on the table and pushed back his chair. He walked over to the window and looked out at the forest. The forest trees were being battered by wind and rain. Iron-grey clouds littered the sky. The past few days had been miserable like this and as a result Harry had wound up gloomily wandering the house and writing several drafts of a yet-unfinished letter to Ginny. This morning, however, Harry had awakened with a new sense of purpose; he had firmly decided that it was the right sort of day to sit down and complete the application for the Auror training program. Percy, who had been mercifully unquestioning about the matter, had picked up said application for Harry from the Ministry. But working on the application had not gone as well as planned, and Harry's sense of purpose was slowly ebbing away. He had been working at it for two hours and had barely filled in the first page.

Harry leaned back against the kitchen counter and stared across the room at the application on the table, which seemed to be mocking him with its relative blankness. The application was only the first step in a long and tedious process. He also had to get a background check done to prove that he did not have a criminal record. Once the background check and his application were accepted, there would still be a formal interview, then a battery of psychological tests for character and aptitude assessment. Finally, he would have to pass several practical exams that would test his skills in Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, and Defensive magic. Only after he successfully completed all of these steps could he be accepted as an Auror trainee, which was by no means the end of the line; it meant another three years of gruelling training and tests.

Kreacher poked his head into the kitchen, his bat-like ears brushing against the doorframe. "Does Master need anything?"

"Not unless you can fill that thing out - wait, Kreacher, hang on," Harry said quickly as Kreacher obediently shuffled towards the application, "I was joking."

As usual, Harry felt guilty and a bit embarrassed by Kreacher's dedicated servitude. Leaving Grimmauld Place had been hard on the house-elf; Harry had found him sobbing over Black family heirlooms several times before the move to Arbour Glen. Since Harry technically still owned Grimmauld Place, he had proposed that Kreacher stay there to keep the house tidy and in order. But Kreacher's oath to serve Harry had won out in the end and the house-elf had dutifully followed his master to Arbour Glen. At first, Harry had offered Kreacher one of the small upstairs bedrooms, but Kreacher had been absolutely appalled by this suggestion and had insisted - ironically - upon making the cupboard under the stairs his home. Harry had been vehemently opposed to this suggestion for obvious reasons, but Kreacher had refused to sleep anywhere more comfortable.

There was still, of course, the issue of Kreacher's freedom. Harry knew eventually he would have to set Kreacher free. He had come to this decision primarily to gratify his own conscience, but also to stop Hermione from hounding him about it. However, it was a difficult issue because Kreacher most certainly did not want to be set free. The last time Harry had awkwardly brought it up, Kreacher had thrown himself to the ground and clapped his hands over his ears. After so many years of serving the Black family, to be without a master would be the ultimate disgrace for him. Harry remembered Winky, who had been equally devoted to her master, had gone through severe depression after being set free. He was reluctant to sentence Kreacher to that kind of misery. Besides, he had grown very fond of the house-elf, and had become somewhat reliant on him.

"Perhaps Master would like some tea?" Kreacher suggested.

"Yeah, Kreacher, that would be great, thanks," Harry said.

While Kreacher bustled about the kitchen, Harry sat back down and rested his elbows on the table, his palms supporting his head. He stared at the application until the black print of the essay questions blurred. A sense of déjà vu overcame him; he had spent most of the last few days in this very same position, staring at a blank piece of parchment and willing a letter to Ginny to appear - a miraculous letter which detailed all of his thoughts and feelings about her in eloquent and appropriate prose. Unfortunately, that approach had not worked with the letter and was certainly not working for the Auror application.

Sighing, Harry pushed the parchment away. An idea suddenly came to mind - perhaps he could just go to the Ministry and speak to Kingsley. Harry was lacking the required academic background to complete the application, but if he had permission from the Interim Minister for Magic, perhaps he could skip right to the interview. As Harry gratefully accepted the mug of tea that Kreacher placed in front of him, he decided to leave the application for now. He would talk to Kingsley, or at least the Head of the Auror Division, when he had a chance. Harry sipped his tea and felt somewhat better after having come to some sort of decision. As it turned out, though, Harry did not have to go to the Kingsley or the Aurors. Two days later, the Aurors came to him.

It was a gloriously sunny August day, which was welcome after the dreary weather of the past few days. Harry had just come home from an exhilarating broom ride around his new property. He had, of course, been careful to stay in the cover of the tall forest trees and to avoid going anywhere near the Muggle farmhouse down the road. Even with these precautions, he had felt wonderfully free being able to soar around at his leisure, without threat of pursuit or detection. After returning to Arbour Glen Harry quickly showered, dressed, and headed back downstairs to polish up his new Firebolt, recently purchased from Quality Quidditch Supplies to replace the one he had lost. There was a newer version out now, the Firebolt X, but Harry was partial to the original Firebolt. It was somewhat of an homage to Sirius, riding the model that his godfather had bought for him.

Harry was digging in a still-unpacked box, looking for the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had bought him for his thirteenth birthday, when there was a sharp knock at his front door. He straightened up from his kneeling position by the cardboard box and frowned. He was not expecting visitors. Ever cautious, Harry stuck a hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his wand as he moved towards the front door. He peered through the peephole to see three unfamiliar people standing on the front porch, all dressed in identical black robes. The first irrational thought that flitted through Harry's mind was of Death Eaters, but Harry quickly realised the absurdity of this thought. The Death Eaters certainly would not knock. The second thing that Harry wondered was how these strangers had located him at Arbour Glen. Feeling a bit wary, but reassured by his wand in his pocket, Harry opened the door.

The younger of the two wizards on his doorstep looked vaguely familiar. His hair was tied in a very long, dark ponytail which ended midway down his back and he wore dragon skin boots under his official-looking black robes. The witch was bronze-skinned and broad-faced, her jet-black hair pulled into a knot at the back of her neck. The older wizard who stood between them was tall and wiry, with shots of silver in his hair and in his neatly-trimmed moustache. There was an aura of self-importance about the older wizard, so it was he whom Harry addressed.

"Can I help you?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Mr Potter," said the older wizard, "my name is Angus Proudfoot, and these are my colleagues, Williamson - " The pony tailed wizard gave a casual wave. " - and Sri." The witch inclined her head in acknowledgement. "We are with the Auror Division. May we come in?"

Surprised, Harry nodded mutely and took a step backwards to allow the three Aurors into his home. The thought occurred to him that Percy had perhaps said something about Harry's request for an application to someone in the Auror department. But he could not fathom why this would merit sending three Aurors to his home.

As soon as she entered the house, the witch took her wand out and began murmuring something quietly. She pointed her wand up the stairs and into the kitchen, then looked at Proudfoot and nodded. Harry opened his mouth to ask her what she had been doing, but Proudfoot chose that moment to turn around and stare at him expectantly.

"Er…well, come in," said Harry awkwardly. He led them into the sitting room. Williamson made himself comfortable on the couch, stretching his arms out behind him, while Sri sat on the other end of the couch, her back straight and her ankles crossed. Proudfoot remained standing, so Harry did as well.

Proudfoot cleared his throat. "Mr Potter, we've come to speak to you about a certain situation that has arisen. Now, we do not normally confide in civilians," Proudfoot made a face, as if he had an unpleasant taste in his mouth, "but under the circumstances, the, ah, powers that be have decided that you should be informed of the danger to your personal safety."

So they were not here to talk to him about his application. In fact, he doubted they even knew about it. This visit was almost certainly about the escaped Death Eaters. Harry suddenly felt very alert.

"You may be aware," Proudfoot continued carefully, "of certain…problems at Azkaban prison. The Auror Division is, of course, not involved or responsible for said problems. However, since they have resulted in the escape of certain Dark wizards, it has unfortunately become our concern."

"So there _were_ escapes," said Harry, irritated that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had withheld such an important fact from the papers. "Who was it?"

"That is not really your concern - " Proudfoot began testily.

"Well, I think it is my concern, as they're probably coming after me," Harry said flatly.

"Macnair and Yaxley," Williamson supplied. Proudfoot shot him a look, and Williamson shrugged in response.

Kreacher suddenly appeared, carrying a tray holding glasses of pumpkin juice. Harry forgot his anger and nervousness for a moment as he felt a rush of appreciation for the house-elf, who had no doubt immediately set to work preparing refreshments as soon as he had heard a knock at the door.

"Thanks, Kreacher," said Harry, accepting a glass of pumpkin juice. Williamson and Sri also took a glass, although Sri frowned as she did so. Proudfoot, though, waved Kreacher away impatiently when he offered him a glass. The house-elf bowed deeply to Harry and then hurried off. Sri's dark eyes followed him out of the room.

"As I was saying," Proudfoot continued, "we have received intelligence that the escapees have located and joined other former Death Eaters. And we now have reason to believe that you, Mr Potter, are their target."

Harry felt a chill run up his spine as Proudfoot confirmed his theory. "What…er, reasons do you have to believe that?"

"A Hogsmeade resident was tortured for information last night," Sri said in a soft but steady voice. "Neighbours heard screaming and hurried over to find the man badly injured but alive. There were signs of forced entry into his home."

Harry's mouth felt dry. "Who was it?"

"A Mister William Peet. I believe you know him?"

Harry nodded mutely. His stomach felt hollow.

"He is currently at St. Mungo's and seems to be improving," Sri informed him. "When we questioned Mr Peet this morning, he initially could not remember anything about the attack. It appeared that a Memory Charm had been performed on him. Fortunately, a Ministry Legilimens was able to help him recover some Obliviated memories, and Mr Peet was able to confirm that he had been tortured for information about your new home. Luckily, it appears that his neighbours arrived before he could be broken. Mr Peet could not remember many details, but the one thing he did assure us of was that he gave his attackers no information."

Harry experienced a sudden surge of affection for Willy Peet. "So they knew that he was the one who sold me this house."

"Seems so," said Williamson.

"If these were Death Eaters, though," Harry said slowly, "why would they run? Why wouldn't they just curse the neighbours and get on with it?"

Proudfoot opened his mouth to say something, but Williamson interjected with, "Guess they want to keep a low profile for now. Probably don't want people knowing that they're still running about. They're not exactly the most popular blokes in Britain, now are they?"

His logic made sense. Harry thought of the hooded man putting Ron in a Full Body-Bind and fleeing. "Did Peet know who they were?"

"He could not identify them," said Proudfoot, who looked displeased with where the conversation had headed. "Now, Mr Potter - "

"Do you think one of his attackers may have been the same wizard who attacked my friend Ron in Knockturn Alley?" Harry interrupted.

There was a brief silence. Proudfoot exchanged looks with Sri, who shook her head slightly. "We weren't aware of any attack in Knockturn Alley…" Sri said delicately.

"You weren't? We filed a report with the Magical Law Enforcement Squad!" Harry exclaimed. "Ron said right in his statement that he thought a Dark wizard was involved!"

"The Aurors don't often take on cases from the M.L.E.S.," Proudfoot said stiffly. "Unless the report contains the confirmed presence of a Dark witch or wizard, or the use of one of the Unforgivables, we don't normally get involved…"

"What do you mean you don't normally get involved?" Harry said loudly. "A man physically attacked my friend, put him in a Full Body-Bind, and left him to rot in Knockturn Alley. Moreover, he made threats against my friends and me. Isn't that enough to confirm the presence of a Dark wizard?"

"Mr Potter, seeing as you are not really in the position to be critiquing the policies and procedures of the Auror Division, I suggest you let me continue," Proudfoot interrupted icily. "We have chosen to share some of this classified information with you so we can offer you protection for your own personal safety. Now, although Mr Peet insists that he did not leak any information to his attackers, we still must assume that this location is now compromised. We are prepared to take you to a Ministry safe house until - "

"What? No!" Harry burst out. "Look, I'm not leaving. I can protect myself just fine."

Sri and Williamson exchanged glances across the couch. Proudfoot took a deep breath and seemed to draw himself up to his full height.

"Mr Potter," he said very slowly, "it seems that due to recent events, you suffer under the delusion that you are capable of single-handedly taking on a group of very unhappy, very dangerous Death Eaters. No one is questioning that you are an extremely brave young man, and no one is more thankful than we that the Dark Lord is vanquished. But let me make this perfectly clear. You are only a seventeen-year-old boy - "

"Eighteen," Harry said through gritted teeth.

" - and up until now you have been very, very lucky. Aurors are highly trained and are far more qualified than you. It is our job to capture Dark wizards and protect innocent people. Please allow us to do our jobs, Mr Potter. If you co-operate with us, it will be better for everyone involved."

Harry clenched his fists, feeling angry and indignant. "Actually, I'd rather not have your protection. No offence, but your people were next to useless when it came to doing anything about Voldemort and the Death Eaters last year. You can't even manage to hold onto prisoners - "

"As I said, that was not our fault, nor our responsibility!" snapped Proudfoot, who was now very red in the face.

"Well, maybe it should be," Harry shot back. "I appreciate your warning, but I'll handle the Death Eaters on my own, thanks."

"Hey now, Potter," Williamson interjected in a reasonable voice, "we can probably come to some kind of compromise, yeah?"

Harry was silent for a moment. He took a few deep breaths, trying to cool down. Despite the frustrating flaws in Auror protocol, Harry was still set on applying to the Auror training program, and he realized that he had not made a very good first impression. Perhaps it would be best to collaborate with them. Harry was not quite as incompetent as Proudfoot seemed to think he was, but if he was a target for a group of disgruntled Death Eaters, he could certainly use the Aurors' help.

"Okay," said Harry finally. "I'm not hiding out in some safe house, though."

"Right, we'll keep you here," Williamson agreed. "But you'll have to be prepared for the possibility of Death Eaters showing up on your doorstep."

A flash of inspiration suddenly struck Harry. "Hang on," he said thoughtfully. "That might not be such a bad thing."

"Beg pardon?" Williamson said blankly.

Plans had started to form and click into place in Harry's mind. "Listen…if we lead the Death Eaters to believe that Mr Peet couldn't remember anything about the attack, and that I'm not aware they're looking for me…we could lay a trap for them." Harry started talking quickly and earnestly as ideas began to flow. "We could set up some additional security around the house, maybe even some alarm charms. When the Death Eaters show up, they'll have no idea we're already expecting them. We could work out some kind of system of communication between myself and you lot, and before the Death Eaters know it, they're surrounded by Aurors."

Sri tilted her head, considering this plan of action. "This puts you at risk."

"But it's not an entirely bad idea," Williamson pointed out.

Proudfoot's moustache twitched as he glared at each of his colleagues in turn. "Have it your way, then," he snapped. "We shall review this with Robards. If he agrees - and it's very unlikely that he will - we'll consider such a course of action. Williamson, Sri, let's go."

Sri and Williamson stood up simultaneously and followed Proudfoot out of the sitting room. Harry followed them, thoughts tumbling around in his head. Once they reached the front door, Proudfoot spun on his heel to face Harry. "It's your own life you're putting in danger, boy. Do not be a fool about this."

Harry shrugged. "I've been putting my life in danger for years," he said dryly. "Why stop now?"

Proudfoot's moustache twitched again. "We'll be in touch," he said shortly before Disapparating. Sri gave Harry an almost imperceptible nod, her face expressionless, and disappeared as well. Williamson lingered for a moment.

"Don't worry about The Foot - Proudfoot, that is," he re-assured Harry. "He's not really a bad sort. Just things are a mess at the Ministry right now, re-structuring everything and whatnot. The Foot's just trying to keep some order, do things by the book, you know?"

"Yeah…" said Harry. Williamson seemed the most approachable of the three Aurors, so on impulse he decided to tell him about his application. "Listen, I've uh…actually been thinking about applying to the Auror training program. Only I don't have…er, all the necessary requirements. I was hoping, maybe, that I could talk to someone…?"

Williamson laughed and rubbed his unshaven chin. "You're applying to be a trainee, eh? Well you're the bloke for the position, if anyone. Bad news though, mate. All applications go through one Auror, and that's The Foot. He's in charge of trainee applications and new trainees. That's why they call him The Foot - he ends up booting out half the new recruits every year."

Harry felt his heart sink. He had just insulted and argued with the one wizard who could make or break his future career ambitions.

"Word of advice? Go back to school," Williamson suggested. "You need that ruddy Potions N.E.W.T. The practical exam is a nightmare."

Harry's spirits sunk even further. Williamson must have seen how miserable he looked, because he clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically. He paused for a moment, then said, "Hey, d'you think I could have your autograph? It'll probably be worth a fortune someday."

Harry obliged, signing a piece of parchment that Williamson dug out of his pocket. He grinned at Harry's signature then pocketed it. "Cheers!" Williamson said before Disapparating.

The house was now quiet. Harry walked slowly into the sitting room and sunk onto the couch, his head spinning. There were Death Eaters coming after him. Mr Peet had been tortured. The Aurors and the Ministry seemed caught up in politics and procedures as always. There was only one thing that he felt he could do, and that was join the Aurors and do something about it himself. But he had probably just blown his chances of getting into the program.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to clear his head. The most pressing matter now was one of security. If the Death Eaters knew Mr Peet had sold him a house, then it was only a matter of time before they found out where Arbour Glen was. He needed to immediately place additional security wards on his home. Ideas began popping into Harry's mind - jinxes he could place on the property to surprise the unsuspecting Death Eaters and traps that he could lay for them when they showed up. He would also need to work out a means of communicating quickly with the Aurors, so they could send reinforcements when the time was right. One thing was certain - Harry would need help with all of this.

Harry got up and quickly went to find some fresh parchment. He settled down at the kitchen table, tried to ignore the unfinished Auror application that still sat there, tried to forget about the unfinished letters to Ginny strewn about his bedroom, and started scratching out letters to Ron and Hermione.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Many, many thanks for those of you who are still reading and reviewing this story. I apologize for the long, uneventful, non-updating period of time between the last chapter and this one. I do, have several of the next few chapters written, so hopefully I will get the next chapter up sometime in this century. Cheers.


	9. Chapter 8: The Secret Keeper

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 8: The Secret-Keeper**

"You've got to be daft," said Ron. "Why don't you just buy a mat that says, 'Welcome, Death Eaters' and put it out at your front door?"

They had gathered on a grassy spot in Harry's yard, under a knobbly old tree that was broad enough to provide enough shade for the three of them. Harry was sitting with his back to the tree and Hermione was sitting cross-legged next to him. Ron was lying on his stomach with his long legs spread out behind him, extending beyond the shade and into the sun. He could feel the heat seeping into his legs and noted somewhere in the back of his mind that he was probably getting a sunburn, but he was too lazy and too comfortable to change positions.

"Have you got a better idea?" Harry asked. "It's this or hide out in some Ministry safe house until the Aurors round up every single Death Eater out there. And we all know how prompt they'll be with that."

Ron had received an odd, jumbled-up letter from Harry the night previous. He, Ginny, and his father had gathered in the sitting room after dinner to listen to the WWN together, as they had always used to do when the Weasley children were smaller. Returning to the old routine had probably been an unintentional attempt to create some sense of normalcy around the house. The three of them had been listening to Lee Jordan's new program - now re-named _Wizardwatch_, which according to Lee was for "copyright reasons" - when a post owl had zoomed into the room through an open window. Ron had untied and read the letter while half-listening to Lee's interview with an unidentified Ministry official about the ongoing trial of Antonin Dolohov. In his letter, Harry had scribbled something nonsensical about Aurors and Death Eaters, followed by a request for Ron to come to Arbour Glen as soon as possible the following day.

After putting in a brief appearance at the shop that morning, Ron had Apparated to Harry's, finding that Hermione was already there. She no longer seemed angry with him; in fact, to Ron's surprise and pleasure, she had given him a wordless kiss on the cheek when he had arrived, presumably due to the apology letter he had written. Although she no longer seemed angry, she did seem strangely restless and preoccupied. Harry's account of his visit from the Aurors and his plan for dealing with the Death Eater threat had only made Hermione more agitated.

"Harry, I think the idea is good in theory," Hermione said tentatively once Harry had finished, "but it's awfully dangerous. What did the Aurors say?"

"They're going to go along with it," Harry replied vaguely.

"So they'll be here straight away if anyone…if they…come here?"

"That's the idea."

"And you really think this is the best course of action?"

"Better than hiding someplace, waiting for something to happen."

Hermione frowned, still unsatisfied. "So what happens if these people show up in the middle of the night, while you're sleeping? Or worse, while you're away from the house? What if you come home one day to find Death Eaters waiting for you?"

"We'll set up alarm charms," Harry said matter-of-factly. "And other spells, jinxes…we'll put up a warning system and then we'll trap them."

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, the way she often did when she was rationalizing her way through an idea. "All right," she said finally.

"Seriously?" Ron was surprised at her willingness to go along with something so obviously dangerous.

"Well, if there's a chance to trap the people who are after Harry, wouldn't you want to take it?" Hermione said with a sigh, beginning to absently tug out blades of grass around her.

Ron privately thought that both Harry and Hermione had gone mad. He remembered too well being trapped in Knockturn Alley, paralyzed and completely helpless, staring unblinkingly at the sky and counting the seconds as they ticked by. Perhaps he was more wary about the plan than either Harry or Hermione because he had dealt with one of these people first-hand. Besides, didn't Harry want some kind of reprieve? Wasn't he tired of Dark wizards and Death Eaters?

"I can't run from it," Harry said quietly, as if he had read Ron's mind. "If we don't deal with this now, they'll always be out there. I have a responsibility to end this."

_Well of course he has to go all noble like that_, Ron thought. He rolled his eyes and exhaled noisily. "Fine. But I don't think you should just sit around here all alone, waiting for Death Eaters to come calling. One of us should be with you all the time."

"I'm not all alone, I have Kreacher," Harry pointed out. He glanced quickly at Hermione, no doubt afraid that she would have something to say about him still keeping Kreacher around as a servant, but Hermione was brooding over something and did not seem to be listening.

"Well, yeah…you do have him…" said Ron slowly.

Ron knew Kreacher would fight tooth and nail for Harry, and had in fact seen it first hand during the Battle of Hogwarts. But Kreacher _was_ a house-elf. Ron glanced cautiously at Hermione as well, careful not to offend her. "But I still think it would be, er, beneficial to have a witch or wizard with you too, you know, just in case."

Surprisingly, Hermione agreed with him. She broke out of her trance and said, "He's right, Harry. You can't do this alone."

A smile spread over Harry's face. "Yeah, I've learned that I'm pretty much stuck with you lot."

"Unfortunately," Ron agreed cheerfully. Hermione looked from Harry to Ron and gave a small smile.

"I've got to be at the shop every now and again, but I'll try to stick around as much as possible," Ron continued. "I can get Dad and Percy to spend some time here, too…maybe even George, but I doubt it."

He did not mention Ginny. Her relationship with Harry was still ambiguous. Were they together? Had he ditched her again? It was all very confusing.

Hermione suddenly started violently pulling out blades of grass again. "Well, _I'll_ be here as much as possible, Harry," she said in an oddly high-pitched voice. "I mean, I spend all of my time in the wizarding world anyway, right?"

Ron and Harry exchanged puzzled looks. Harry tilted his head slightly, as if to defer to Ron.

"Hermione? Everything all right?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"Never mind," Hermione said with a sigh. "So, we'll have to set up some security wards, obviously. Fortunately we've all got quite good at those."

Ron shrugged at Harry and made a mental note to ask Hermione what was bothering her later on. She continued to list off spells and charms, talking more to herself than either of the boys.

"Then some alarm charms…perhaps some variation on the Caterwauling Charm, only we'll have to somehow make it silent so that it alerts only us and the Aurors…"

"That's what I was thinking, too," said Harry. "Do you think we can modify that one, or is there a silent charm like that which already exists?"

The three of them bantered about charms for awhile. Ron felt a sense of déjà vu sweep over him; it was almost as if they were back at Hogwarts, sitting out on the school grounds and discussing a homework assignment. He half-expected McGonagall to come barrelling out of Harry's back door and tell them off for teasing the giant squid. The conversation gradually shifted to communication with the Aurors.

"We'll have to work out some way to alert them if something happens, but how?" Hermione mused. "It has to be subtle, nothing that can be seen or overheard like a Patronus…"

"Well, that's easy," said Ron. "Your galleons."

Hermione gave him a puzzled look. "Pardon?"

"The galleons, the ones you enchanted for the DA," Ron explained. "You can use the same kind of enchantment on something for the Aurors, something normal so that no one can guess what they really are. If we need the Aurors, we can send a message to them through those."

"I hadn't even thought of that!" Hermione exclaimed. "I can't believe you remembered, Ron!"

"Always the tone of surprise," Ron teased.

"Brilliant," said Harry eagerly. "I think that galleons could work again…"

They stayed under the tree talking for the rest of the morning, hardly aware of the time. It became apparent that a few hours had passed when then shadows began to shorten and their stomachs started rumbling. Ron interrupted a heated debate between Harry and Hermione regarding the advantages and disadvantages of placing jinxes on inanimate objects to suggest they break for lunch.

"I'll ask Kreacher to fix us something," Harry announced, standing up and brushing dirt off his jeans.

Hermione gave him a disapproving look but said nothing. Harry quickly headed toward the house, presumably wanting to leave before Hermione began lecturing him about house-elf rights. Ron watched Harry cross the lawn and disappear into the back door of the cottage. He and Hermione were left temporarily alone. Ron, who was still lying on his stomach in the grass, rolled on to his back and then sat up.

He touched Hermione's arm. "You all right?"

Hermione sighed heavily and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly. "It's nothing you did."

"Right, because it usually is."

"That's not what I meant. I just meant that I'm not still angry about the other night, at Harry's party…"

"I was stupid. I'm sorry," said Ron quickly.

"I know you are." She gave him a warm smile, the kind that was just for him, and then dropped her eyes to the ground again. "It's just something that happened at home a few days ago."

"Your grandma?"

Hermione shook her head. "My parents. They've been having…difficulty with the after-effects of the memory modification."

"Like forgetting stuff?"

"No, like…accepting that I did it at all." Hermione sounded frustrated. "It's difficult, you know…trying to explain to them what I can do, what it's like here in the wizarding world. They feel left out of my life. I suppose it's partly my fault, for staying at Hogwarts or with your family so much over the past few years. But it was always for a good reason! They just don't understand. And now it's hard for them, trying to get their lives back on track after being away for so long…" She broke off, looking troubled.

Ron shifted over so that he was sitting by her side. He looped a long arm around her shoulders. "But don't they get that you sent them away for their own good?"

"That's the thing. They don't understand about Voldemort, or how serious it was. They've never quite grasped the idea of magic and it…it scares them, what I can do. I overheard my Mum say they're…" Hermione's voice dropped to a whisper and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "They're afraid of me. My own parents."

Ron tried his best to comfort her as she turned her face into his shoulder and gave a great sob. He stroked her hair as he had done at Dumbledore's funeral, wondering if that was the right thing to do now. Ron marvelled anew at how soft her hair felt on his rough hand, which was still burned and calloused from the enchanted treasure in Gringott's. Then, feeling unexpectedly daring, Ron quickly kissed the top of Hermione's head. He inhaled the scent of her hair as he did so and noted, not for the first time, that her hair smelled wonderful.

Hermione raised her head and gave him another warm smile. Ron smiled back and awkwardly brushed a tear off her cheek.

"It's okay, though" Hermione said quietly. "I'm okay."

"That's good," Ron replied. Then, spontaneously: "I think I'd like to kiss you."

Hermione laughed, brushing a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand. "Well, since you asked so nicely…" she said with a nervous laugh.

She leaned forward and Ron eagerly leaned in as well, feeling a jolt when their lips finally brushed against each other. He felt as if he was in a dream. Her lips were soft and warm, and quite impulsively he found himself raising a hand and cupping her cheek as they kissed. He had never done that before - not with Lavender anyway - but somehow it seemed like the right thing to do…

The back door of the cottage slammed shut and Ron and Hermione jumped apart. Ron glanced over to see Harry crossing the lawn with Kreacher, who was carrying a tray laden with sandwiches. Harry seemed to be speaking in an unnecessarily loud voice to the house-elf, as if he wanted to be certain that Ron and Hermione would hear their approach. Ron grinned at Hermione, who smiled shyly back, her cheeks flushed. The three of them started in on the sandwiches and began outlining a plan to set up the security wards, jinxes, and curses they had come up with earlier.

"I think we'll have some time," Hermione said thoughtfully between bites. "Mr Peet claims that he didn't give up the location of Arbour Glen, so that should slow the Death Eaters down. They have no way of knowing where it is…"

A thought occurred to Ron and he suddenly dropped his sandwich, feeling as if he had been punched in the stomach. "Oh no…" he groaned. "The map."

"What's that?" said Harry.

"The map…the one you drew for me the first time I came, when I had to sign that homeowner's rubbish with you. I - I lost it, remember?"

"You lost it in Diagon Alley…"

"…the same day I was attacked," Ron said weakly. "Sorry?"

"Well then," said Harry grimly. "Guess we'd better get started sooner rather than later."

They helped Kreacher tidy up after lunch, much to his chagrin, and then got to work. Hermione started with basic security wards and Anti-Apparition and Disapparition spells immediately around the cottage ("We don't want to them to be able to just pop in and out, now do we?" Hermione pointed out). Harry tried out some charms on the rest of his property, including a neat one Hermione had heard of, which would make the trees in his yard come to life and attack any unwanted visitors. Ron was sent to extend Hermione's Anti-Apparition and Disapparition spells along the road leading to Harry's house, so that if someone were to try to Apparate in, it would be at a safe distance from the cottage. That way, Harry would have time to prepare for an attack.

As he strode down the gravel road, stopping to cast spells occasionally, Ron felt rather cheerful in spite of the circumstances. The trees on either side of the road provided a deliciously cool shade that felt wonderful after lying in the sun all morning, and whenever Ron began to feel panicked about Harry's predicament, he remembered the feeling of Hermione's lips on his and all anxiety seemed to melt away.

Eventually, Ron came to the old farmhouse where Hugh and his grandparents lived. Although he felt a bit wary about the talkative child, Ron tucked his wand into his pocket and slowed as he approached the drive, craning his neck to look for signs of the Muggles. He watched as a wiry old man with a head of white hair emerged from the barn, wiping his hands with a rag. Before Ron could hurry along, the old man spotted him and raised a hand in greeting. Ron waved back uneasily, unsure of what to do. Hugh's grandfather crossed the yard at a leisurely pace, tucking the rag into a pocket of his overalls.

"Well, hullo!" the old man called as he strolled over. His voice was rough and hoarse. Hugh's grandfather reached Ron and stuck his hand out. "The name's Ed Somerville. You must be Ron."

Ron shook the man's hand, feeling taken aback. "Er…"

"Hugh won't stop talking about you," Mr Somerville explained kindly. "We don't get many people up here. Figured a red-headed fellow walking up the road must be the same young man my grandson was going on about."

Ron felt his face go red. "I, uh…I've really only talked to him once or twice."

Mr Somerville chuckled. "Yes, well, I think he's taken a liking to you. It's tough, sometimes, for my wife and I to keep up with him."

The old man suddenly looked tired, and heaved a sigh. He reached a wrinkled hand behind his head to rub the back of his neck. "When my…my son and daughter-in-law died…we're not young, Margaret and I, and its difficult having to run a farm and trying to entertain a five-year-old at the same time." Mr Somerville shook his head and gave Ron another friendly smile. "Anyway, it's nice that he's found a young man like you to talk to. He said your friend lives up the road? He's not trying to fix up that old disaster of a - ?"

Mr Somerville was interrupted as the door of the house banged open and Hugh shot out of the farmhouse like a cannon. He sprinted up the drive and arrived at Ron's side in a few short seconds. "Hi Ron!" he said breathlessly.

"Well, hi," Ron said.

"Grandpa-can-I-play-with-Ron?" The words tumbled out of Hugh's mouth as he bounced from foot to foot excitedly.

Mr Somerville gave Ron an apologetic look. "Hugh, I'm sure Ron is very busy…"

"Yeah, I am, actually," Ron said. He immediately regretted his choice of words, which sounded harsher than intended. A crestfallen look crossed Hugh's face and his shoulders slumped.

"Today, anyway," Ron added. "I've got to get back to my friend's house just now. You can, uh…walk up the road with me, though, if you like…"

The transformation was amazing; Hugh's face broke into a grin, his shoulders straightened, and he seemed to grow half a metre. "Can I, Grandpa? I'll be right back and I won't go into the forest, I promise. I promise for _real_ this time."

Mr Somerville hesitated. "Up the road, then, and straight back," he finally conceded. "You're not to go into Ron's friend's house though, is that understood?"

"Yep," Hugh said distractedly. Ron was not entirely sure he had heard him.

Mr Somerville turned to Ron again. "You will send him right back, won't you?"

It occurred to Ron that it was strange for these people to trust their grandchild with him, but then he remembered the people of Ottery St. Catchpole. Like the Muggles of the town nearest the Burrow, the Somervilles were simple, trusting folk. They had not been forced to adopt the culture of fear and distrust that had pervaded the wizarding world for the past few years. Ed Somerville was mercifully oblivious to the fact that they were expecting Death Eaters next door.

A thought suddenly barrelled into Ron's mind: they were putting the Somervilles at risk with Harry's half-brained scheme. Ron glanced down at Hugh, who was beaming up at him and fidgeting with anticipation, and felt lower than a Flobberworm.

"Right. Straight back," Ron said, his voice wavering.

Mr Somerville gave him that friendly, trusting smile again. His face was weather-beaten and the skin looked as if it had been pulled taut across his skull, but when he smiled, he looked years younger. "Good. What's your friend's name, by the way? The one who lives up the road?"

"Harry," Ron answered. "Harry Potter." He found himself expecting a jolt of recognition from Mr Somerville, and felt strange when the man showed no indication of having heard Harry's name before.

"Right, well tell Harry to come by sometime and introduce himself."

"Will do," said Ron, though bizarrely, a part of him wanted these Muggles all to himself. He was proud that he had successfully interacted with them without raising suspicion or making a fool of himself so far. Considering this, he felt an even further sense of responsibility for their well-being.

Ron nodded at Hugh. "Let's go, then."

He started back down the road to Arbour Glen with Hugh hot on his heels. The boy happily kicked a pebble up the road as he chattered away about something he had seen on the television that morning. Ron did not have the faintest clue what he was talking about, as he had never watched television, although his father did have one in the shed which he had never quite managed to get working. Ron suspected this was due to some sly sabotage on the twins' parts; they had spent the better part of one summer torturing Ginny with a skinny black "snake" which had turned out to be a Muggle wire or cord or something.

"And it exploded all over the kitchen!" Hugh was saying enthusiastically. "But it wasn't Paddington's fault."

"'Course it wasn't," Ron agreed distractedly. He was feverishly trying to think of a way to cast protective spells on the Somervilles' farmhouse without them catching on or being impacted by the magic in any way. The Death Eaters' first priority was definitely Harry, but Ron was grimly certain that they would not be opposed to some sport with Muggles if they happened upon the Somervilles along the way.

Hugh changed topics without warning. "Want to play hide and seek?"

"I don't think…"

"You're It!"

"I don't want…"

"You have to count and I hide. Ready?"

Ron was beginning to get frustrated. "We are not going to play hide and seek and I am not going to be It," he said firmly.

Hugh looked momentarily dejected, but then perked up. "That's okay because you would have never found me anyway because I can turn invisible," he said matter-of-factly.

_So can I_, thought Ron, thinking of the hundreds of times he had disappeared under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Out loud, he said: "Is that so?"

"Yes, watch!" Hugh took a few steps backward, screwed up his round face, and then flung his arms out. "See? I'm invisible!"

"No you're not."

"Yes I am!"

"I can still see you," Ron said pointedly.

"No you can't, 'cause I'm invisible!"

Ron could not believe he was actually having this argument. "No you aren't because - "

He had a sudden flash of comprehension. Though Hugh lived in a world without magic, this child used his active imagination to create magic where there was none. The things that for Ron were ordinary and mundane were actually part of Hugh's childhood fantasies. Ron wondered what it would be like to discover that one's make-believe was, in fact, real. He felt a new appreciation for what Harry and Hermione must have experienced as Muggle-borns new to the wizarding world, and wondered if every Muggle child tried to reach out to the magical world through this game of pretend.

"Hugh?" Ron said, suddenly deciding to play along. "Hugh? Where'd you go?" He scratched his head theatrically. "He was right here a second ago…"

Hugo laughed delightedly, and Ron found himself liking the sound of his laughter. "I'm right here! You can't see me because I'm invisible!"

Ron grinned. "So you are."

An "invisible" Hugh walked Ron all the way back to Harry's house, where he deigned to make himself visible once more and said goodbye. Hugh suddenly flung his arms around Ron's waist and hugged him. Before Ron could react, Hugh sprang away and began running back down the road, waving furiously over his shoulder. Ron watched the little figure disappear up the road. Then he squared his shoulders and went down the well-kept path leading to Harry's, which Hugh could not see. Hermione was crouched on Harry's porch, presumably trying to charm a potted plant to trip people as they walked up the porch steps. Ron marched determinedly over to them.

"What about the Muggles, eh?" Ron said loudly.

"What?" Harry asked as a leafy tendril shot out and knocked him off his feet. Hermione clapped in delight.

"The Muggles down the road," Ron barked. "You think these Death Eaters that you're luring here aren't going to give two bloody sickles about them? Maybe they'll put them in a Body Bind and float them through the air for sport, would that make you happy?"

"Hang on a second," Harry said defensively as he got to his feet, rubbing his shins. "I didn't think of that right away but I did mention it to Hermione while you were gone…"

"I think the Fidelius charm is our best bet," Hermione explained uncertainly. She was giving Ron a puzzled look, as if wondering where this sudden fervent interest in Harry's Muggle neighbours had come from.

"Is that enough to keep them safe?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"It was safe enough for the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione reminded him.

"We'll need a Secret-Keeper," said Harry.

"I'll do it," Ron blurted out.

Hermione and Harry exchanged looks, and Ron felt vaguely annoyed. Each pair in the trio had at some point in their friendship been forced to unite against the third. Consequently, each pair had developed their own silent language in which they sometimes communicated. Hermione and Harry had strengthened this bond in the time that Ron had disappeared last winter, and Ron had noticed that their silent communication now happened more frequently than before.

"Look, I met the old man today and I've talked to the kid a couple of times," Ron explained. "They're nice people. The kid is…he's really little, and he's a good kid, and I would hate myself if something happened to him because of us, all right?"

Hermione's expression softened, and she looked at Harry once more. "It's really complex, and I'd have to read up on it, but I'm sure I can do the charm."

Ron watched Harry's face, which remained expressionless. He knew that Harry had an inherent uneasiness about the Fidelius charm because of what had happened to his parents. Again, Ron felt somewhat annoyed; Harry did not even know the Muggles, and yet he and Hermione were deferring to him as if it was his decision to make. Then again, Ron reminded himself, Harry was the one putting Hugh and his family into danger in the first place. Perhaps he wanted to shoulder the burden of the Fidelius Charm himself.

But Harry looked at Ron levelly and said: "Then you'll be their Secret-Keeper."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: So I am moving out of the country and starting a new job overseas in September. Hence, I am frantically trying to finish this story before then. I apologize if chapters are not going up as quickly as I'd like (packing, prep, etc. is taking up ridiculous amounts of my time). I have the next few written but need to tweak them a bit. Reviews always help and motivate me to write, so please keep reading and reviewing!


	10. Chapter 9: Faux Pas and Photographs

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 9: Faux Pas and Photographs**

They fell into a routine that was almost as familiar and reassuring as their weekly timetables at Hogwarts. Hermione would visit with Harry most mornings. Ron would go to Arbour Glen once he was finished at the shop, and would usually stay overnight. It worked out well for Hermione; her parents had finally gone back to work and thus were unaware of her long absences in the morning. Grandma Jean, blessedly, had the grace to not pester Hermione about her whereabouts and to keep quiet about Hermione's disappearances to Mum and Dad. In fact, Grandma Jean had become an unlikely ally for Hermione in the tumultuous Granger household. A brick wall seemed to have gone up between Hermione and her parents. Conversation was usually cold and brief, especially with her mother, and disagreements rapidly escalated into full-blown arguments. Grandma Jean had somehow taken on the role of moderator in such rows. She would make a well-timed comment and either Mum or Dad would sullenly drop the argument, unwilling to allow Grandma Jean to be a witness to such family discord.

Because of the conflicts at home, Hermione was rather grateful for the mornings that she spent with Harry, although he too seemed quarrelsome and short-tempered lately. Hermione noticed that without Ron as a buffer she and Harry butted heads far more frequently. Luckily, Harry was much easier to deal with than her parents.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to learn a few cooking spells yourself," Hermione pointed out one morning as Kreacher placed a breakfast of eggs and bacon in front of both of them.

"Why?" Harry asked. "Kreacher does a great job." Kreacher bowed and disappeared through the kitchen doorway.

"Well, what if Kreacher's on holiday?" Hermione suggested lightly. Harry unsuccessfully tried to turn a chortle into a cough and she glared at him.

"Give it a rest, will you?" Harry said. "Kreacher's happy with the way things are."

"I'm not suggesting letting him go, just maybe a few days off to start, then you can start negotiating a salary…"

"I said give - it - a - rest!" Harry snapped in annoyance. Hermione fell silent and Harry immediately looked apologetic. "Sorry," he said quickly.

Hermione sighed. "It's fine. Is everything all right, Harry?"

"Not really," said Harry. "You see, there are these Death Eaters after me - "

"_Harry_."

Harry sighed heavily and pushed his eggs around on his plate. He suddenly seemed to have lost his appetite. "Well it's that too, of course, but to be honest…" He determinedly avoided eye contact and looked embarrassed. "It's…it's Ginny. We had a stupid row on my birthday, and I want to apologize, and I've been trying to write her a letter, but…" He trailed off.

Hermione sat back in her chair and stared incredulously at him. "You had a row on your birthday and you _still_ haven't talked to her?"

Harry's birthday had been two weeks ago. She remembered her argument with Ron on the very same night, and how he had sent her an apology the very next day. Hermione briefly marvelled at the fact that Ron had somehow emerged as more tactful than Harry in this particular matter.

"I've sort of been busy," Harry said pointedly, but Hermione gave him a look and his shoulders slumped. "I just…I haven't really figured out what to say." He glanced up at Hermione hopefully.

"Oh no," said Hermione, trying to conceal her amusement. "You've got to sort this one out on your own."

Harry tried to wheedle advice out of her for a bit longer, but finally gave up and did not bring up the matter of Ginny again.

When she was not at Harry's, Hermione spent most of her time shut up in her bedroom. She would often nervously fiddle with the fake Galleon in her pocket which she, Ron, and Harry carried as a means of communication. They had established that it was important for all three of them to be aware when Arbour Glen was left unattended, but Hermione found herself unable to concentrate every time Harry notified them via the Galleons that he was leaving the house. She would anxiously wait for her Galleon to start shrieking, the signal that an unauthorized Apparition had occurred near Arbour Glen. Hermione harboured a secret fear that one of the trio would Apparate back to the house before the other two, and would have to face a small army of Death Eaters alone. She found that she worried slightly less when she knew that Harry was at the house, accompanied by Kreacher and another witch or wizard. Harry's dangerous position was no secret amongst those who were close to him, so there was a revolving door of guests at Arbour Glen. Ron's parents, Bill, Fleur, Percy, Neville, and the Lovegoods made frequent appearances, so that Harry was never left alone in his new home. Everyone except Hermione and Ron kept up the façade that the visits were purely social, and although no one spoke of the Death Eater threat out loud, the wary glances at the door and the nervous fingering of wands spoke volumes.

It was on a stifling hot Sunday morning that Hermione finally persuaded Harry to make a decent attempt at decorating the house. Harry had thus far successfully avoided the tiresome job by pointing out that there was no point in decorating if Death Eaters were to lay siege to his home. But on this particular Sunday it was so hot that going outdoors was unthinkable, and because there was nothing better to do, Hermione finally convinced him to make an effort with the bare-looking sitting room. It quickly became apparent, however, that Hermione would be the one doing the decorating while Harry argued with everything she did.

"You're not putting flowers in my sitting room," Harry said vehemently as Hermione conjured a bouquet in a sunny yellow pot and tried to set it on the table. Harry had continued to be irritable over the past few days, which probably meant that he still had not made up with Ginny.

Hermione sighed and put a hand on her hip. "Why not?"

Harry frowned at the flowers. "They're too…feminine."

Hermione impatiently waved her wand. The flowers seemed to crumple into themselves, and then new petals burst forth in hues of scarlet and gold.

Harry continued to frown. "Now they just look unnatural."

"Well yes, Harry," Hermione said wryly. "I created them with magic, you see."

Harry rolled his eyes but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Hey, turn up the wireless, will you? I think I heard something worthwhile."

Mr Weasley had managed to enchant an old Muggle wireless to behave more or less like a Wizard's Wireless and had given this to Harry as a housewarming present. They had been listening to _Mungo Shewes and the Morning News_, which featured a lot of talk show drivel and celebrity gossip, but occasionally discussed significant current events. However, the wireless kept sporadically cutting out to Muggle programming. They had found this amusing at first, but it was quickly becoming annoying.

" - that the Wizengamot's got tongues all over Britain wagging with their latest _faux pas_ in the Dolohov trial," Mungo was saying with relish. "He says he'll give up the other Death Eaters in exchange for a ticket out of Azkaban…and the Ministry is biting! Is this a deal with the devil?"

Hermione chanced a look at Harry. His face was a mask of indignation and his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

"There is, of course, this quaint little potion called Veritaserum - perhaps they've heard of it? That might loosen his tongue…then the Ministry wouldn't have to loosen his chains! But Ministry officials claim_ -_ "

Mungo's voice dissolved into static, and a female voice was suddenly crooning, "_You're here, there's nothing I fear_…"

Harry swore and abruptly stood up. "Can't you do something to keep it on the magical side of things?"

Hermione, who was closer to the wireless, prodded it with her wand until Mungo's voice cut back in. " - won't be having a former Death Eater prowling free. But will life as a Squib suit Mr Dolohov?"

"Life as a Squib?" Harry repeated. They had obviously missed a crucial point.

"They'll take his wand," Hermione said as comprehension dawned on her. "He'll give up the Death Eaters, and stay out of Azkaban, but he won't be allowed to do magic."

"The Wizengamot is, of course, infamous for letting known Death Eaters walk free the last time You-Know-We're-Supposed-To-Say-His-Name was around," Mungo continued, "but this little twist…unexpected…magic won't…" His voice once again was overtaken by static and replaced by the same Muggle song as before, now at a swelling instrumental interlude.

Harry was livid. "They're offering him a deal?" he shouted to no one in particular. He began pacing the room, livid, while Hermione sat quietly on the couch. She could not help but think that the deal was reasonable. If Dolohov were to betray his fellow Death Eaters, with his help the Aurors could surely find and apprehend them before they attempted an attack on Harry.

"Harry," said Hermione gently as the wireless cut back to Mungo again. "If Dolohov gives up - "

"HE KILLED REMUS!" Harry bellowed, waving his wand rather violently at the wireless. He had probably meant to simply turn it off, but instead he blasted it off the coffee table. Hermione watched helplessly as the wireless sailed across the room, wincing in anticipation of it smashing on the floor.

There was a sudden, ear-splitting crack and then the wireless set was hanging in midair. Hermione turned around to see Kreacher standing in the doorway, a mop in one hand and the other hand extended. His gnarled finger was pointing at the wireless set. He crooked his finger to the right and the wireless gently floated back to its place. Hermione stared but Harry did not seem surprised by this uncommon display of magical ability by Kreacher.

"Thanks Kreacher," Harry muttered. The anger seemed to have seeped out of him. He sat down heavily next to Hermione on the couch. "I can't believe they're offering him a deal."

"But if he won't be allowed magic…"

"So what? He won't be able to do magic in Azkaban either," Harry snapped. "I want to see him rot in a cell."

Hermione did not reply. Personally, she thought that Dolohov's freedom was an acceptable trade for Harry's safety and security, but Harry clearly did not feel the same way and there was no reasoning with him while he was in this sort of mood. She dropped the matter of decorating to mollify Harry, who spent the rest of the morning wandering around the house and muttering angrily to himself.

Since the shop was closed on Sundays, Ron had agreed to meet them at Arbour Glen for lunch. But noon came and went without an appearance from Ron. Hermione had begun to nervously play with her fake Galleon again when a soft pop in the kitchen announced that he had finally arrived, an hour and a half late.

"What is it? Why are you late? Is everything all right?" Hermione asked as she flew into the kitchen. Ron looked weary and grumpy but seemed physically unharmed. Hermione allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.

"No, everything's not all right," Ron said irritably, collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table as Harry entered the kitchen. "Ever heard the phrase 'the merchandise is just walking off the shelves?'"

"Yes…" said Hermione uncertainly.

"Well it is," said Ron darkly, "literally."

He explained that he had arrived at the shop that morning to re-stock some merchandise, only to find that the merchandise he already had was literally strolling off the shelves. Nosebleed Nougat, Candy Cuffs, Dungbombs and other products had all mysteriously come to life and were inching their ways by whatever means possible towards the edges of their shelves. Once they got to the edges, the joke shop items would bravely dive off the shelves to join the melee of merchandise already writhing on the floor.

"I spent half the morning trying to wrestle with U-No-Poo's and get them back on the shelves. Don't laugh," Ron warned Harry, who had emerged from his foul mood to grin and snicker at the story, "or I'll make you my U-No-Poo wrestling partner."

"Did you try _Finite Incanteum_?" Hermione asked.

"Did I try…of course I tried _Finite_ _Incanteum_, what do you take me for, woman?" Ron snapped. "What I need is a spell to tell me who is messing about with my products. This is going beyond pranking."

Nonplussed by Ron's tone, Hermione said, "Maybe it's a rival joke shop?"

Ron snorted. "Can you imagine old Zonko in there, cursing all the Nosebleed Nougat?" But Harry was frowning and his face had darkened again.

"I doubt the Death Eaters would waste their time pranking a joke shop, if that's what you're thinking, Harry," Hermione said, reading the look on his face.

"Speaking of which…" Harry said, and he related to Ron what they had heard on the news that morning.

To Hermione's surprise, Ron frowned and said, "But Harry, mate, that'd be good for you, wouldn't it? I mean, if they know where the Death Eaters are then we won't have to worry about them showing up here." He paused for a moment and then added significantly, "Or next door."

Ron often visited the farmhouse down the road to check up on the Muggle family that he had somehow become responsible for. It had not taken Hermione long to work out the Fidelius charm; she had performed the complex magic that bound Ron as the Somervilles' Secret-Keeper last week. Hermione was still not sure what had happened to make Ron feel responsible for the Somervilles, but his concern for them warmed her heart. Although he frequently talked about Hugh with exasperation or annoyance, Hermione could tell that he had become very fond of the little boy.

"Well, yeah," Harry grumbled. "None of them should walk free, though. Especially Dolohov."

"So what are you going to do about the walking products?" Hermione asked Ron, hastily changing the subject.

"I don't know," Ron said wearily. "Verity and Allegra are coming in this afternoon and we're going to try to figure it out. Maybe you lot could come too…Hermione, you're a genius at Charms…"

Hermione glanced at the watch on her wrist and groaned. "Oh no…I can't, Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't realize what time it was…my parents took my grandmother out this morning and they're probably back already and wondering where I've gone. Just what I need…I'll see you two tomorrow, okay?"

Ron suddenly got to his feet and kissed her goodbye, which he had never done before - not in front of Harry, anyway. Pleasantly flustered, Hermione turned on the spot and Harry's kitchen dissolved into blackness. She re-appeared in her bedroom at home. Crookshanks lazily rose from the curled-up position he had assumed on Hermione's bedspread and began mewing plaintively.

"Sorry, Crookshanks," Hermione said, reaching over to scratch him behind the ears. "You're probably hungry, poor dear, and I've locked you in here."

Hermione opened her bedroom door and listened closely for her parents' voices as Crookshanks shot out of the room and into the hallway. The house was silent. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; her parents and grandmother had not returned yet, which meant that she could avoid several awkward questions about her whereabouts. She traipsed down the stairs and followed Crookshanks into the kitchen, then stopped dead. Her parents were standing silently in the kitchen, both with their arms folded over their chests, glaring at her.

"Hi," said Hermione weakly.

"Where have you been?" her mother asked quietly.

"At Harry's."

"How considerate of you to leave a note," said Dad sarcastically.

Hermione bristled. "I just went out for a bit. I didn't know you had to be aware of my whereabouts at all times."

"It's a matter of courtesy, Hermione," her mother replied angrily. "Just because you can disappear into thin air doesn't mean that you can come and go as you please!"

"Actually, that's exactly what it means," Hermione retorted.

"Hermione…" her father said warningly. Hermione briefly made eye contact with her father and then quickly looked away. She knew that she was only aggravating the situation, but could not care less.

Mum pursed her lips together tightly and shook her head. "You are not permitted to leave this house without telling us," she said. "And you are certainly not allowed to…to Disappear or whatever it is you do."

"Well that hardly seems fair!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. "I am of age and should be able to Disapparate as I like!"

"Magic does not give you the license to do as you please, young lady!" Mum said, her voice now shrill. "Your abilities do not make you better than everyone else in this family, nor do they exempt you from the rules of this household!"

"This is still about the memory modification, isn't it?" Hermione said loudly. She was displeased to hear the same shrillness in her mother's voice echoed in her own. "How many times do I have to tell you that I did that for your own good?!"

"Enough!" Dad cut in swiftly. He looked from mother to daughter and gave a deep sigh. "Hermione, Grandma Jean is sorting through some things in the attic. Go and give her a hand. I'm tired of this constant quarrelling."

Wordlessly, Hermione spun around and marched out of the kitchen, her cheeks flushed and her temper blazing. She was an adult witch in the magical community and a grown woman in the eyes of the wizarding world. After all she had done for her parents, for their safety, she could not believe they had the audacity to try to set rules about her comings and goings like a child! Hermione intentionally ignored her father's request to help Grandma Jean in the attic and headed towards her bedroom instead, savouring her feelings of indignation and relishing her deliberate disobedience.

Hermione paused in front of her bedroom door. Sadly, she was enjoying this sense of being wronged and misunderstood by her parents. She wished to be treated as an adult, yet she suddenly realized that she was behaving like an overdramatic child. Hermione's anger rapidly dissipated and she suddenly felt weary. She was tired of the constant quarrelling with her parents as well. But Hermione had inherited her stubbornness from the two people downstairs, so it was unlikely that this fight would end with a willing submission or an apology by either party. Ignoring Dad's request to help her grandmother would be only a petty victory in the ongoing battle with her parents. Sighing, Hermione turned around and headed up to the attic.

The attic was musty and warm, an unpleasant combination on a summer day. They had not tidied up the attic in ages. A layer of dust obscured the entry of sunlight through the small, round windows, so the entire attic was bathed in a muted glow. The room was cluttered with cardboard boxes, trunks, heaps of folders and loose papers which had never been filed, and stacks of her parents' old textbooks from university. Grandma Jean was crouched amidst the junk, looking oddly out-of-place in her ubiquitous black shawl, stockings, and clunky shoes. She was bent over an open cardboard box which contained several photo albums and a scattering of loose photos which presumably had never been put away properly. Grandma Jean had several photographs in her hand and was slowly flipping through them.

"Grandma Jean?" Hermione said tentatively. "Do you, erm…need a hand?"

Her grandmother glanced up from the handful of photos she had been perusing and looked Hermione up and down. "Well, _I_ certainly shouldn't be hunched over like this all day, now should I? That's what you young people are for." She stood up with surprising grace for an elderly woman and brushed herself off. "Have a look through these boxes for any other loose photographs, will you? It's appalling, the state things are in. I should have never left all of these things with your father when we moved to France."

Hermione set to work, scrounging around through the boxes and flipping through photo albums in search of photographs which had fallen out of place or had never been put away. It soon became an enjoyable task; Hermione wondered why she had never shown any interest in the treasure trove of family history that the attic had to offer. There were sepia photographs of Dad and his siblings as toddlers, small pictures of Granddad Gabe in military uniform, and faded photographs of her parents in their university days, her mother with thick, wavy hair which reached almost to her bottom and her father with funny tortoise-shell glasses that took up his entire face. Grandma Jean identified unknown relatives, explained the stories behind photographs, and directed Hermione as to where each photo was to be placed.

"Who are these people?" Hermione asked, emerging with a faded photograph of several young men on a beach. They were holding up a laughing young girl by the hands and feet. The men were barefoot and their trousers were rolled up, but the girl was wearing a pleated skirt and blouse. It looked like they were about to throw her into the water fully-clothed.

Grandma Jean, who was perched atop an old trunk, leaned forward to see the picture. "Those are your cousins on Granddad Gabe's side. Five boys and one girl in that family. That Lizzy was a firecracker, though…I suppose she had to be, growing up with all those boys."

Hermione smiled. "Sounds like my friend Ginny." She picked up a tattered black-and-white photo of a beautiful young woman with a dazzling smile and short, curled hair. "Who's this? She's beautiful."

Grandma Jean peered at it. "Me, of course," she said indifferently.

"Grandma - you were gorgeous!"

"Well, who did you think you got your good looks from, your mother's side?" Grandma Jean scoffed. "Put that one in the blue album, will you?"

Hermione grabbed the album her grandmother had indicated and began flipping through the stiff pages, searching for an empty space. These photos looked like they all belonged to Grandma Jean's side of the family. There were several other photographs of the beautiful young woman who was her grandmother, as well as some pictures of a younger boy and girl who shared the same big eyes and long eyelashes.

"My brother and sister, Russell and Ruth," said Grandma Jean, seeing that Hermione had paused to look at a picture of the two of them in matching jumpers. "Twins. Russ was a mechanic…he moved to America when he was in his twenties. Ruthie - silly girl - ran off with the love of her life when she was sixteen. They eloped, much to my mother's chagrin."

Hermione ran her fingers over a picture of Ruthie as a teenager. She had a wide grin on her face and her big eyes were sparkling. "Did she ever speak to your mother again?"

"Eventually. Took some time though. Our family has an infamous stubborn streak, Hermione."

_Tell me about it_, Hermione thought wryly. "Where's Ruthie now?"

"Her husband was killed in a car crash about ten years ago, and Ruthie passed on a few months later. Doctors never figured out why. She just wasted away. Poor thing died from a broken heart, bless her."

Hermione felt a pang of sadness for this relative she had never known. "And Russ?"

"Lives in Florida now with some woman half his age."

Hermione grinned. "Are you the only child who didn't cause a scandal?"

"Oh, I gave my mother a hard enough time when I was a young girl," said Grandma Jean. "She did a fine job raising the three of us on her own, though. Funny how you don't appreciate it at the time."

She gave Hermione a significant look. Hermione quickly glanced away, feeling embarrassed about the argument with her parents moments ago. She had no doubt that Grandma Jean had overheard everything.

"How old were you when your father…passed away?" Hermione asked. She remembered from some long-ago conversation with Dad that her great-grandfather had died young, but she had never heard the details.

Grandma Jean's pinched face was transformed by a sad smile. She reached out for the photo album and Hermione handed it to her. Grandma Jean flipped to the beginning of the album and held out a page which contained a single yellowing photo. An unsmiling woman stood next to a tall, broad-shouldered man who was attempting to maintain a sober expression, but whose twinkling eyes betrayed amusement. A chubby toddler stood next to the man, clutching his pant leg.

"That's me, there," Grandma Jean said, pointing to the little girl in the picture. "This was probably taken around 1932. The twins were born the next year, and Father died just a few months after they were born. It was a…an accident at work. Mother never really went into the details." She handed the album back to Hermione and without even looking at her, added casually: "I think he was one of your sort."

Hermione's fingers slipped on the photo album and it fell to the ground with a thud, causing a cloud of dust to rise. Her heart had started beating faster. "What?"

Grandma Jean's eyes met Hermione's. "I was very young when my father died," she said slowly, "but one does not forget…when they've seen magic. Real magic."

Hermione could only stare at her grandmother, her mouth agape. Thoughts were bubbling to the surface of her mind but they seemed to be moving very slowly.

"My mother never spoke of it after he died," Grandma Jean continued. "She must have thought it was better for us children if we didn't know. I think he got into some kind of trouble in that world, you see. I think that's why he died."

Grandma Jean picked up the fallen photo album and turned back to the photograph of her father, the man with the twinkling eyes. "The twins were just babies, of course, so they didn't remember. But I did. Of course I still don't really understand it…I know that there were others like him, many others, a whole world of people who could do magic. And I remember him telling me once that I might have the magic too when I got older. After he died, Mother tried to convince me it was just a make-believe game I used to play with Father. Eventually, I gave up talking about it to her and the twins. But I never forgot."

The thoughts that had been slowly pushing their way forward in Hermione's brain suddenly burst to the surface. Grandma Jean knew about magic, had seen magic…

"Your father was a wizard?" Hermione finally croaked out.

Grandma Jean looked amused. "Is that what your people actually call it?"

"How did you…why are you telling…?"

"Hermione, my dear," said Grandma Jean, with a hint of fondness in her voice, "I have long suspected that you are much more than an average girl."

Hermione's head was spinning. "But Dad…he never knew before…you never told Dad about your father? About magic?"

"Heavens, no," Grandma Jean said, smoothing her skirt as she shifted positions. "Can you imagine, a grown woman filling her son's mind with such nonsense?"

"But you said - "

"I never forgot," Grandma Jean interrupted, "but there were times when I stopped believing. There were times when I convinced myself it _had_ been just a game or the product of a little girl's overactive imagination. Flying on broomsticks and turning coat hangers into canaries…it did seem silly. But every now and then something inexplicable or bizarre would happen. And I would remember Father saying that strange things sometimes happened because something went wrong on your side and they had to fix things on ours. And I would believe again."

"But why haven't you said anything?" Hermione cried out. "I've had to keep it a secret from you all this time and you _knew_!"

"I didn't know, Hermione, I suspected," said Grandma Jean with uncharacteristic gentleness. "You were always so smart and different. Funny things used to happen around you as a child and I always wondered…I didn't get the magic, but perhaps it skipped a few generations…"

Grandma Jean sighed. For a second, Hermione had thought she'd heard a trace of jealousy in her grandmother's voice.

"When you came to visit that one summer, I kept looking for signs, kept waiting for odd things to happen like they used to when you were small, or when Father was around. But I suppose you've learned to be careful about that around people like me, haven't you?" Grandma Jean smiled ruefully. "Then your parents disappeared for a year, just like that, without telling anyone anything. I knew something was wrong, and that it probably had to do with or with your people…so when I found out your mother and father were back, I decided to see what was happening for myself."

Hermione stared at her grandmother in disbelief. Grandma Jean knew about magic. Grandma Jean knew she was a witch. Hermione was still in shock. "So you're…it's okay then? You're not…afraid, or…?"

Grandma Jean threw back her head and laughed. Gone was the stubborn, critical old woman Hermione had come to know over the past few weeks. Her grandmother's eyes twinkled as she laughed, and she suddenly looked very much like her father - the wizard in the photograph.

"_Afraid_? My dear girl," Grandma Jean said warmly, "I've been waiting to see magic again for sixty-five years."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Thanks again to everyone who has continued to review! Thanks also for the best wishes on my move overseas and my new job. I am moving to the UK, for those of you who asked. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as it was one of my favourites to write, particularly the end.


	11. Chapter 10:The Interim Ministry of Magic

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 10: The Interim Ministry of Magic**

"It's the lifts that have been driving everyone mad," said Percy Weasley. "Near the end, one of the Death Eaters got the idea to monitor where everyone was going by placing some really clever charms on all the lifts. The magic's somehow gone all wrong now. Maintenance is still trying to sort it out. I suppose it's not really a priority considering the mess that a lot of departments are still in, but if we can't use the lifts…"

Percy had joined Harry and Ron the previous night at Arbour Glen for dinner, and Harry had, without thinking, suddenly asked Percy if he could take him for a visit to the Ministry of Magic the next day. This surprising request had been met by a suspicious look from Ron, but Percy had enthusiastically agreed. Harry was still not certain why he had asked Percy to bring him here, nor exactly what he intended to accomplish. It did not seem to matter, however, because the lift he and Percy were on kept returning them to the Atrium of the Ministry against their wills.

"Oh honestly, not again," sighed Percy. The golden grille of the lift had opened to reveal the Atrium again.

"Level Eight, Atrium," said a cool, female voice.

"No, no, no," said Percy, frustrated. "We want to go to Level Two!"

"Level Eight, Atrium," the disembodied voice repeated firmly.

As Percy took out his wand and began prodding at the grilles in an effort to get them to close again, Harry stared out at the Atrium. He remembered his very first visit to the Ministry and considered how things had changed. The dark Atrium was far more crowded than Harry had ever seen it. The ceiling, which had once shone peacock blue, had faded to a muted denim colour, and the golden symbols which used to move fluidly across the ceiling seemed to have been frozen. Several of the fireplaces which lined the walls were either boarded up or in a state of disrepair. A constant stream of haggard-looking witches and wizards popped out of the remaining functional fireplaces, only to be swallowed up by the throng in the Atrium. Several of the people in this crowd wore the navy blue robes of the Magical Maintenance workers; a group of these weary-looking wizards were huddled together in the middle of the hall. They stood with wands pointed at the ceiling, occasionally being jostled around by the crowd as they worked. Every now and then one of the golden symbols would flash and jump to life, moving and changing for a short period of time, before stopping dead once more. One of the maintenance wizards threw his wand to the ground in frustration and had to quickly stoop to rescue it from being trampled by a small witch flying out of a nearby fireplace.

One change since his last visit to the Ministry gave Harry a glimmer of hope - the grotesque "MAGIC IS MIGHT" statue which had dominated the Atrium was gone. Harry suspected that it had met a violent end; there was a large crater in the floor where the statue used to be.

Percy jumped backwards as the grilles abruptly clanged shut and the lift began to ascend. Percy tugged at a violet paper aeroplane that had gotten stuck in the grille and released it.

"Everything all right at the house?" Percy asked absently, watching the damaged aeroplane as it flew in wild zigzags around the lift.

Kreacher had been left at Arbour Glen alone for the day, and Hermione and Ron had been notified that the house was unprotected. Harry reached for the fake Galleon in his pocket, but it was silent and cool to the touch. If something happened, he would Disapparate home on the spot.

"So far, so good," said Harry. "Are things here, er…back to normal?"

"It's been a bit chaotic trying to get everything back in order," Percy answered with a sigh. "Internally, several positions have had to be filled, all sorts of records have gone missing, and we're still stumbling across curses and jinxes that were put into place to keep people out of the higher-ups' business. The other day I tried to open a locked drawer in my office and ended up floating upside down for a half hour until someone realized I wasn't in a meeting and came to find me."

Harry gave him a wry smile. "The last Senior Undersecretary to the Minister wasn't exactly the trusting type."

"And she had horrible taste - it took me ages to get all of those ghastly kitten plates off the wall. Ah, finally," said Percy as the female voice announced that they had at long last reached Level Two. "Follow me."

Harry nervously followed Percy out of the lift and down a familiar hallway. Although Percy was undoubtedly busy in his new position, he had happily taken the time to meet Harry in London that morning and accompany him through the Ministry. He had politely refrained from asking why Harry needed to visit Auror Headquarters today, and furthermore, had not asked Harry about the Auror application he had procured for him either. Harry felt somewhat guilty about all of the rotten things he had either said or agreed with about Percy over the past couple of years; he really was not a bad sort.

They passed through a pair of heavy oak doors into Auror Headquarters, which had also changed since the last time Harry was here. There were far fewer cubicles in the large, open space. Most of the cubicles seemed a bit tidier and more organized. The walls, which had previously been covered in memos, posters, notes, and flyers, were now entirely covered in photographs. The wall on their right was plastered with photographs of Death Eaters scowling down at them. Handwritten notes were tacked up haphazardly around all the photos. Harry noticed that someone had drawn an impressive moustache, bushy eyebrows, and what looked like devil horns on the shot of Yaxley. The opposite wall was covered in photographs of smiling witches and wizards, a few of whom looked vaguely familiar. Harry's heart skipped a beat as his eyes picked out a photo of Tonks, laughing with her arms flung around the shoulders of two wizards he did not recognize. Above this collection of photographs shimmered golden words on the wall: _Lest we forget_.

Harry tore his gaze away from the photo of Tonks and looked to Percy. "What did they all do," he asked, surprised that this question had not occurred to him before, "when Voldemort took over the Ministry? What happened to the Aurors?"

Percy looked grim. "It wasn't easy for any of us really, but especially for them," he said. "Traitors were dealt with severely, but a lot of us tried to stay on - we did what they asked us and tried to do as much good as we could at the same time without anybody noticing. For the Aurors, the definition of 'Dark wizard' meant any Muggle-born with a wand. They were more or less made into glorified Snatchers."

Harry looked horrified. "And they went along with it?"

"Most of them had no choice," Percy explained. "Some were Imperiused. The ones that weren't…Yaxley threatened them and their families…"

Harry shook his head, disgusted. "So they went out and caught Muggle-borns and brought them to Umbridge."

"Not everyone. Some of them disappeared and went into hiding. Others joined the Order. A few stayed on and turned spies for the Order, pretending to be loyal to the Death Eaters while working to get the Muggle-borns they were supposed to be hunting out of the country. But it was a huge risk - if the Death Eaters caught them at it, they were either Imperiused immediately, tried as a blood traitor, or…" Percy glanced at the wall filled with photos, the tribute to the fallen Aurors, and looked solemn.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, sorry that he had jumped to conclusions about the Aurors. He stared at the photo of Tonks for a moment longer, and then suddenly realized that he and Percy seemed to be alone in the room. "Where is everyone?"

"They've holed themselves up in the back room, looks like!" called a deep voice from behind one of the cubicles. Harry craned his neck to see a very large man reclining in a chair in the cubicle, his hulking boots perched atop the desk. The man unfolded himself from the chair and lumbered over to Harry and Percy. As he got closer Harry realized that the man was much older than he had initially thought; there were streaks of silver in his dirty blonde beard and his ruddy face was lined. There was something familiar about him, but Harry could not place where he had seen the man before.

"They must be having a meeting. Been waiting myself," the man explained, looking Percy and Harry up and down. A flicker of recognition suddenly crossed his face, but to Harry's surprise, it was Percy whom he enthusiastically clapped on the shoulder.

"Arthur's boy, isn't it?" the man said jovially. "Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, I heard!"

Percy smiled weakly, sinking slightly under the weight of the man's hand on his shoulder. "Interim Minister for Magic," he corrected, though he looked pleased.

"Right, right - Interim Senior Undersecretary to the Interim Minister of the Interim Ministry of Magic," said the man with a grin. "Must have made your old man proud, eh? Haven't seen him or Molly in ages." He glanced over at Harry and stuck out a hand. "And of course I'm pleased to be meeting _your_ acquaintance."

"Harry, this is Gwilym Brigstocke," said Percy as Harry's hand was crushed in the man's firm handshake. "He's an old friend of the family's."

"Yeah, and this one was too young last time I saw him to recall that no one in their right mind has ever called me Gwilym," boomed Brigstocke. "It's Brigs. Pleasure to meet you, Potter. Bang-up job you've been doing over here, saving the world and whatnot."

Harry grinned, feeling somewhat grateful that Brigstocke did not show any signs of the star-struck manner he had come to expect from strangers. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Are you…" Percy suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Are you back then, Mr Brigstocke?"

"Not exactly. Don't do well with authority, as you've probably heard," Brigs said, tipping Percy an enormous wink.

"Mr Bristocke is - I mean, that is, he was - an Auror," Percy explained to Harry hesitantly. He coughed, looking awkward. "You were, um…a Seeker, weren't you, sir?"

"Like…in Quidditch?" Harry asked, confused. The burly man was not exactly the correct build for a Seeker.

Brigstocke threw back his head and laughed. "Oh no, it's not Snitches I'd be looking for," he said merrily. "Dark devices. Bewitched items. Cursed stuff. Wish I'd known about that Horcrux hunt you went on - sounds like it was a hell of a time."

"You could say that," said Harry dryly.

"They wouldn't let me back in the ruddy country," Brigs said disappointedly. "Everyone else was trying to get out. I was the only one trying to get in and I still couldn't manage it."

There was a short silence. "Oh?" said Percy, trying to fill the gap in conversation. "You…travelled, then? Where have you been?"

"Cameroon, Cancun, the moon…where haven't I been?" Brigs said dismissively. "Real question is - what brings you two to Auror Headquarters?"

"Er…I need to speak to Mr Proudfoot," said Harry, realizing on the spot that speaking to Proudfoot was his objective.

"The Foot?" Brigs boomed. "Well, luckily for you he's a close personal friend of mine. What about?"

But Harry was spared answering by a pair of double doors being flung open on the opposite end of the room. The Aurors who stumbled out of the doors looked worn-out and sleep-deprived. Gone was the rowdy, talkative bunch Harry had met last time he was here. There were also, Harry noticed, far fewer of them. Brigs clapped Harry on the shoulder and then started walking towards the group of Aurors filing wearily back to their cubicles. Several of them visibly brightened when they saw Brigs or gave calls of recognition. A few of the Aurors stopped to shake his hand or slap him on the back. Near the back of the crowd, Harry spotted a frowning Proudfoot and felt his insides start wriggling.

"Mr Brigstocke used to be the best Seeker the Aurors had," Percy whispered to Harry. "I've heard Brigs had a…well, a disagreement with Mr Fudge when he first became Minister. Rumours were that Brigs was going to get fired, but he resigned before anyone could let him go and then disappeared."

Brigs had now made his way over to Proudfoot, who looked less than pleased to see him, although this may have been because it was apparently his desk that Brigs had been resting his muddy boots on a few moments ago. Harry abruptly decided that he liked Brigs; he had an automatic respect for anyone who had stood up to Cornelius Fudge.

"So did you need to…talk to someone…?" Percy asked uncertainly.

"I'll be fine on my own if you have work to do," said Harry quickly. He still had not the faintest idea what he intended to say, and he did not need to have Percy watching him make a fool of himself.

Percy looked a bit relieved. "Well, I do have a lot to do…there's a bit of an International Portkey drama, as I'm sure you've heard, and the Interim Minister is meeting with some representatives from Spain and Portugal…you'll be all right on your own, then?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me," said Harry, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Proudfoot had just spotted him and had a displeased look on his face.

"See you later then, Harry," said Percy, turning to leave as Proudfoot halted his conversation with Brigs and marched over to Harry. Brigs ambled along behind him casually.

"Potter," Proudfoot said once he had made his way over with Brigs in tow. "Is there a problem at the house?"

"No, no problems yet…"

"Then may I ask who is there right now?"

"Kreacher's there," said Harry, trying to keep the defensive note out of his voice. "And I've got the Galleon. Nothing's happening."

Proudfoot still looked displeased. "Why…" he trailed off, glancing over his shoulder at Brigs in annoyance. Brigs was standing innocently behind him and did not look like he intended to go anywhere. Proudfoot sighed. "Why weren't we informed that you would be away from the house today? We could have posted someone there in your absence."

"Well, it's not really necessary," said Harry. "We have the Galleons - "

Proudfoot cut him off. "We agreed that you would remain at the compromised location as much as possible."

"I have been."

Proudfoot looked impatient. "Well then may I ask why you have decided to take an impromptu field trip to the Ministry of Magic today?"

Harry balled up his fist and bit back the snarky comment that had been at the tip of his tongue. "I've actually come to speak to you, sir."

"Polite young man, isn't he?" Brigs commented mildly.

Proudfoot ignored him. "Speak to me about what?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I'd like to submit an application to be considered as an Auror trainee."

Proudfoot stared at him blankly. Brigs grinned and raised an eyebrow, and several of the other Aurors who had been milling about perked up.

"But you haven't finished school," Proudfoot finally pointed out after an extended silence.

"I know," Harry said quickly, "but I'm sure that I can pass all the practical tests - "

"You require N.E.W.T.'s in the core subjects in order to pass the practical examinations," Proudfoot snapped. "There are requirements for a reason!"

Brigs snorted. "It's Harry bloody Potter, Angus."

Proudfoot reeled on Brigs, his moustache twitching furiously. "I refuse to give special treatment or let rules slide when it comes to so-called 'important persons'," he hissed. "That was the old Ministry. I thought you of all people would appreciate that I'm trying to turn things around here."

Brigs turned his palms upwards as if to acquiesce to this fact. "Sure, and I know you're doing a fine job so far. I'm not saying you have to let the rules slide - just bend them a wee bit. Think of what the boy's done. Doesn't he deserve a spot?"

The majority of the Aurors had abandoned all attempts of even pretending to be busy and were now blatantly eavesdropping.

"Actually, this is what I've come down here to chat with you about," Brigs continued smoothly. "We've worked it all out - Harry will start his first year of training here, but he'll also do private lessons with his N.E.W.T. professors at Hogwarts once a week. He'll be in school still. It'll just be like a…work experience year."

Harry stared at Brigs, who winked at him over Proudfoot's shoulder. It was not possible that this was, in fact, what Brigs had come to speak to Proudfoot about. After all, he had just met Harry and had no way of knowing that he was interested in applying to be an Auror until now.

"The teachers would never agree to that," Proudfoot said, shaking his head. "The N.E.W.T. year is intensive, and it's already going to be a shortened school year. They'd never been able to cover the material in once-a-week lessons."

"Sure they can. In fact, they've already agreed to it," Brigs lied easily. "Flitwick, McGonagall, and Old Sluggy are close personal friends."

Considering Brigs had also referred to Proudfoot as a close personal friend, Harry was not sure that it was such a good thing that he counted his professors in the same category. Harry hoped that they were closer personal friends than Proudfoot, who currently looked as if he would not mind hexing Brigs.

"What about his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Proudfoot said sceptically. "He needs a N.E.W.T. in Defense as well. Have they even found anyone yet?"

"Well yeah, actually," said Brigs. "Me."

Proudfoot's jaw actually dropped. He had probably sensed that Brigs had been ad-libbing most of this exchange so far, but this last statement had an undeniable ring of truth to it. Harry realized in a flash where he had seen Brigs before. It had been in the Hog's Head, the day that he, Ron and Hermione had gone to Hogsmeade to meet Willy Peet. Brigs must have been coming from Hogwarts.

"You?" Proudfoot said in disbelief. "Minerva McGonagall asked _you_ to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Like I said," Brigs stated, looking pleased with Proudfoot's shocked expression, "she's a close personal friend."

"But…but…you have no experience teaching!" Proudfoot spluttered. "And very little experience in practical Defense - you deal with Dark objects, not wizards!"

"Oh, and you think that Dark objects don't come attached with their share of Dark witches and wizards and hags and vampires and all sorts?" Brigs said, looking miffed. "I've had plenty of experience, thank you."

"That's not what I meant," Proudfoot said hastily, "I only meant…well, I just never thought _you_ of all people would be interested in teaching at Hogwarts…"

"Heard the job's cursed. 'Course I'm interested," Brigs explained cheerfully. "So what do you say about having Harry here start as an Auror trainee while he finishes up his N.E.W.T's?"

"I'm ready to do all the practical tests," Harry jumped in eagerly, surprised by his good fortune, "and if my results aren't as good as you'd like I'll take them again after I'm done my N.E.W.T's, if you want. I've already filled out most of the application and I've got the forms for the background check, so I can bring those in as soon as you like…"

Proudfoot suddenly seemed very aware of the rest of the Aurors, who were listening intently to the conversation. Proudfoot clenched and unclenched his jaw as he glanced around.

"I have to speak to Robards," he finally said stiffly. Harry felt his heart leap with hope. It was not an out-and-out rejection.

"No problem," Brigs said. "Tell him I say hello, won't you? He's a close personal friend. Well, we'd best be off, eh Harry? Let us know what Gawain says."

Before Proudfoot or Harry could get another word in, Brigs clamped one of his hands on Harry's shoulder and steered him out of Auror Headquarters. As they strolled down the hall, Harry thought of The Foot's shell-shocked expression and felt guiltily satisfied. They stopped in front of the lift, Brigs looking almost as smug as Harry felt.

"That was brilliant, Mr - I mean, Professor. Thank you," Harry said gratefully. "You didn't have to…"

"Ah, it was worth it to see the look on The Foot's face," Brigs said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "He's not really a bad sort, actually…just a stickler for rules. Feel a bit guilty sometimes, but its great fun to tease him. And I managed to work out a pretty good deal for me in the process…one-on-one Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons with Harry Potter? I'll probably learn more from you than you do from me!"

"You really think they'll allow it?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Hm? Oh yeah, did you see all the other boys and girls? Positively giddy at the prospect of having you on board. Robards probably won't give a damn either way, and everyone else in the department will harass The Foot until he lets you in."

"And the other teachers? They'll agree to give me private lessons?"

"I'm positive," Brigs said, tapping the wall next to the lift with his wand. It had still not arrived. "I was talking to McGonagall about you just the other day. She's worried you won't come back at all. I'm sure she'll do anything to have you in school one way or another."

Harry felt elated. It was too good to be true; he would be able to begin his Auror training, but he would not lose all ties to Hogwarts, either. He understood now that this was exactly what he wanted. The school could never be the same for him; it was impossible to go back to breakfast in the Great Hall and studying in the common room and Quidditch practices, but he was not going back in this traditional sense. Parts of Hogwarts would be brand new, and so would his role in it. It was a perfect compromise.

"That was brilliant," Harry repeated. "I don't know how to thank you."

Brigs shrugged. "Didn't you just get rid of that Dark Arts bloke who was trying to run the country?" he said. "I probably still owe _you_. Ah, here we are."

The golden grilles of the lift slid open and revealed, to Harry's utter surprise, a very familiar, bushy-haired figure clutching a stack of books to her chest.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "What are you doing here? I knew you…" she trailed off and glanced at Brigs. Harry sensed her unvoiced question and nodded to let her know that Brigs was all right. Hermione relaxed and stepped out of the lift.

"I knew you weren't going to be at the house today, but I had no idea you would be coming here," Hermione said, shifting the books in her arms to redistribute their weight. Harry realized that they were not books, but a collection of worn-looking photo albums.

"Yeah, I uh…had to come talk to someone," Harry said vaguely. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but did not say anything in front of Brigs, whom Harry realized was still standing next to him, looking around the hallway bemusedly. "Hermione, this is Professor Brigstocke. He's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts."

"Are you really?" Hermione said breathlessly, sticking out a hand and dropping a few photo albums as she did so. Brigs enveloped her small hand in his large one and shook it enthusiastically.

"I'm Hermione Granger," said Hermione with enthusiasm. "It's a pleasure to meet you - I'm planning on doing my N.E.W.T. in Defense Against the Dark Arts when Hogwarts re-opens."

"Glad to hear it," said Brigs. "Although you hardly need it, I'd reckon, after fighting off Death Eaters and hunting Horcruxes and the like."

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink. She glanced at Harry, her eyes bright. "So does that mean you're going back to Hogwarts too, Harry?"

"It's…I'll talk to you about it later," said Harry hastily. He could not share the opportunity Brigs had given him just yet; it was still fragile and tentative and Harry did not want to jinx it by telling everyone.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked Hermione, changing the subject.

"Oh!" said Hermione excitedly, distracted from the question of Harry's possible return to Hogwarts. "You'll never guess, Harry. It turns out that my grandmother knows about magic and my great-grandfather was a wizard and I hadn't the faintest clue until now! And I think he worked for the Ministry in Magical Law Enforcement so I wrote to the secretary of the Wizengamot Administration Offices and she said I could come in today to speak to some people and look through their old files to find out more about him!" She paused to take a deep breath.

"Well," said a slightly overwhelmed Harry. "That's…great, Hermione."

"Isn't it? I should probably get going though, my appointment is at eleven o'clock. I'll see you at the house tomorrow morning? It was so nice to meet you, Professor Brigstocke," Hermione said as she bent down to pick up the photo albums she had dropped. She straightened up, shook Brigs' hand again, gave a wave to Harry, and then hurried down the hall.

Brigs grinned after her. "She's going to be a riot in lesson," he said as he and Harry stepped into the lift.

As the lift shuddered to life, something occurred to Harry. "Professor, if you don't mind me asking - why _did_ you come down here? I know you certainly didn't intend to make a case for me as an Auror trainee…"

"Nah, I was just coming to say hello to some old friends," Brigs answered. "And honestly, I wanted to get a good rise out of The Foot. Haven't done it in years. Good thing you were there."

After saying goodbye to Brigs, Harry found a Disapparating-Friendly zone in the Atrium of the Ministry and Disapparated to Arbour Glen. He materialized in the back garden. It had become habit over the past few weeks to steel himself for the worst when he re-appeared at the house. But the garden was silent and peaceful, as Harry should have known it would be.

He pulled the fake Galleon out of his pocket and tapped it a few times with his wand to send a message to Ron and Hermione. Instead of using the serial numbers on the Galleons to communicate the dates and times of DA meetings, they now used them to spell out messages in numerical code. Harry hesitated and then tapped the Galleon again in a different pattern to send the same message to the Aurors who were carrying Galleons - Williamson, Sri, and presumably Proudfoot. At first he had been resentful of the Aurors' involvement, but with his future as a trainee in Proudfoot's hands, Harry knew that he had to communicate and co-operate with them as much as possible. He felt another thrill at the prospect of starting his training, of doing something useful, of doing what he knew he was meant to do…

It was then that Harry noticed a small figure off in the distance, sitting by the pond near the edge of his property. His hand instinctively went for his wand, although the flaming red hair and lack of screaming Alarm Charms quickly re-assured him. He relaxed and started making his way over, remembering that Mr Weasley had offered to stop by and keep Harry company around lunch hour. It occurred to him now that he could have just met up with Mr Weasley at the Ministry and they could have Disapparated over to Arbour Glen together.

It did not take long for Harry to realize that the figure by the pond was too small to be Mr Weasley. As he drew closer he could see that what he had thought was short red hair was actually long red hair pulled into a low ponytail at the base of a slender, white neck. Harry felt his mouth go dry and his heart kick into overdrive, but his feet kept pulling him forward. Ginny.

He reached the edge of the pond and sat down next to her. Her pants were rolled up to her knees and her feet were dangling in the water. The pond was surrounded by tall grass that eventually gave way to the forest beyond. Harry snapped off a long piece of grass and absently wound it around his hand, desperate for something to do, unsure of what to say.

"Dad couldn't come today," Ginny said abruptly. "He had some things to do at work over lunch. Everyone else is busy, so I came."

"Uh…thanks," Harry said, feeling stupid. He had taken Ginny's presence as a truce, but now it appeared that she had been forced to come. The last time he had seen her was at his birthday party nearly three weeks ago. He never had managed to write her that apology letter. Harry frantically tried to think of something to say; voluntarily or not, she was here, and he needed to make things right.

"I thought I'd give you a couple of weeks," said Ginny, swinging her legs back and forth in the water. She gave him a rueful smile. "Should have known you'd be too thick to apologize."

Harry found his voice. "Ginny, I'm - "

"It was a stupid argument," Ginny said dismissively. "Anyway, then I heard about all this Death Eater nonsense and thought you'd be better off figuring it out with Ron and Hermione. I didn't want to get in the way." She suddenly turned to look at him steadily, and Harry felt his heart jump into his mouth. "But I also don't want you to think that I didn't care."

Although he had sat a respectful distance away from Ginny, Harry felt as though there was something hot and fiery between them, pressing up against him. "I wouldn't think that," Harry said in a low voice. "It's my fault we haven't talked. I'm sorry I didn't write. There was just a lot going on."

"So I've heard," she said. She looked away from him and squinted into the sun. "So have you figured out school yet?"

"Actually…" said Harry, and although he had made a silent pact not to tell anyone about his encounter with Brigs and Proudfoot that morning, he found it pouring out of him. Ginny listened quietly, still swinging her legs slowly back and forth in the water.

"So," Ginny said once he'd finished, "you'll finish your N.E.W.T.'s while doing Auror training? Sounds too good to be true."

"It might be," Harry admitted. "I have no idea if the other teachers will agree to it, and The Foot seems pretty dead set against it."

"I have a feeling it won't be a problem," said Ginny. She dropped her gaze to her feet. "So you're set on this Auror thing, are you?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Ginny met his gaze again. "You're sure that it's what you _really_ want?"

Harry felt the heat of the thing between him and Ginny intensify, lick at his fingers, travel up his arms, until he felt himself burning with his desire to be with her and his desire to bring Dark wizards to justice, rolled into one inseparable ball of flame.

"I want to hunt down every Death Eater who tortured a Muggle, or cursed a Hogwarts student, or took a Muggle-born's wand, or killed an Auror, and put them in Azkaban," Harry burst out fervently. "I want to make sure that Azkaban is safe and secure and that no one who committed a crime walks free. I want to take the Auror Office and make it efficient and whole again. And I want you," he said abruptly, "so…I have to find a way that you'll be…okay with all that other stuff."

There was a long silence punctured only by the sound of Harry's pulse thudding in his ears. It seemed impossibly loud.

"Harry," Ginny said quietly, "do you really think that after all we've been through, I'm going to let anything as stupid as your career choice get in the way of being with you?"

And all of the sudden, finally, he was kissing her. The fiery thing kept burning between them, inflaming all of their kisses, so that Harry's lips were burning as they touched Ginny's. His hands were in her hair, loosened from its ponytail, and he was winding it around his palm like he had done with the tall grass. Then they were in the grass, and he was on top of her, pressing the fiery thing between them into a hot, flat disc. Harry suddenly felt possessed to kiss her neck, and left a trail of burning kisses there too. Everything was on fire; it seemed impossible that the water had not evaporated from her still-dripping bare legs…

Harry suddenly heard footsteps rustling in the tall grass behind them. He quickly rolled off Ginny, his heart hammering in his chest. As he looked up, the only thing that was going through his mind was the mantra, _Please don't be Mr Weasley, please don't be Mr Weasley, please don't be Mr Weasley…_

"Hello," said Luna Lovegood, looking frankly unembarrassed to be in this situation. "Thought I would pay you a visit today, Harry."

"Luna…hi," Harry managed to gasp out, his heart slowing. "I didn't…we didn't…er…see you there…"

"So you're together again, then?" Luna asked, looking from Harry to Ginny. "I'm so glad. If you weren't it would have been terribly bad for your health, Harry."

Harry looked at Ginny, who was pressing her lips together to keep from laughing. Harry was so relieved that it was Luna, of all people, to have stumbled across them that he felt quite like laughing himself.

"Bad for my health? Why's that, Luna?" Harry asked, expecting some ridiculous answer about the healing properties of the Dillydaisy extract in Ginny's shampoo, or something along those lines.

"Well because of Ronald, of course," said Luna, surprised that Harry did not catch her meaning. "I think he'd have killed you if you'd chucked her again."

Luna stood by the pond, watching them bemusedly, as both Harry and Ginny fell into the grass and burst into uncontrollable, hysterical laughter.

***

**Author's Notes:** My deepest apologies for such a long wait between updates. I've recently moved to England and have been spending the last little while trying to settle into a new job and a new country. Fortunately, everything is going well and I'm having a blast. Unfortunately, I was unable to locate Diagon Alley in London.


	12. Chapter 11: The Lost Twin

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 11: The Lost Twin**

Ron tried not to look out-of-place as he sat in the Somervilles' kitchen. For the most part, it was not so different from the kitchen at the Burrow. The room was warm and cozy. The smell of bacon still lingered in the air from breakfast, and Ron could hear the far-off sound of hens clucking in the yard. The windows were framed by yellow curtains with a floral pattern, and atop each windowsill there was an eclectic array of items - fruit left out to ripen, a potted plant, a toy train, and a Muggle tool Ron knew was called a "screwdriver" because he had once accidentally mispronounced it and called it something quite vulgar-sounding in front of his mother.

But among these familiar sights, sounds, and smells were a few mysteries. A big, white, rectangular box was lodged in next to the stove. It was nearly as tall as Ron and had a handle at the front. Yet another box sat perched atop a shelf above the counter. This one was much smaller than the rectangular box, and wider than it was tall, but it also had a handle and, strangely, a window in the centre of it. Another mystery was a shiny silver box on the counter with two slits in the top of it. Ron turned his gaze back to the kitchen table and drummed his fingers atop it, wondering about the Muggle fascination with kitchen boxes.

It had been another tiresome morning at the shop. They had finally stopped most of the products from throwing themselves off their shelves, but now they had a problem even more troublesome than suicidal merchandise. Price tags were changing without warning all over the shop. Items that had been priced at twelve galleons were suddenly reading twelve sickles. Puking Pastilles, which had been going for five for a sickle, were now priced at ten for a knut. The customers kept insisting that they should not have to pay full price if they found an item mistakenly marked. Ron had spent all morning sat in the back room with their accounts and a pounding headache, groaning over the cash lost due to mistaken pricing. To make matters worse, they were no closer to figuring out who the joke shop prankster was or how to lift most of the enchantments from the merchandise. Ron was at his wit's end, poor Allegra was always jittery and anxious, and even the normally calm and aloof Verity seemed stressed.

Ron quickly pushed aside all thoughts of the shop as Mrs Somerville came over to the table with a cup of tea in each hand. She was tall like her husband and made wiry by a lifetime of farm work. She had a kindly face, but Ron felt sure that, like his mother, she could turn sharp and formidable in a second. She set a cup of tea down in front of him and Ron accepted it gratefully. It was late August and fairly warm outside, but the steaming cup of tea seemed fitting today. It had rained on and off all day and the cool bite of September was beginning to creep into the air.

"Cheers," Ron muttered, wrapping his hands around the cup of tea. "You really didn't have to, though, I just uh…stopped by to say hello."

He had been checking in with the Muggle family periodically, feeling a sense of responsibility for them as their Secret-Keeper. Most of the time he came under the pretence of visiting Hugh, for which the boy's weary grandparents were grateful. Truthfully, Ron did not mind using Hugh as an excuse. The kid was a bright spot in his day, a reprieve from the grief at the Burrow and the frustrations at the shop. Today he had arrived at the farmhouse only to find Hugh and his grandfather had gone into town. Mrs Somerville had invited Ron in for tea and he had accepted, knowing there was something he had been putting off, something that he needed to tell her.

"You're sure you're not hungry?" Mrs Somerville asked.

"No thanks, really I'm fine..."

"Nonsense, I'll fix you a sandwich," she said decidedly. She got up and walked briskly over to the tall, white box. Ron did not protest again, mainly out of interest to see what was in the mysterious box. She pulled it open to reveal several shelves stacked with food, illuminated by a bright light. Ron tried not to stare as she pulled food items out of the box and then slammed it shut. As Mrs Somerville whipped together a sandwich, Ron took a closer look at the door of the food-box. Tacked to the door were several drawings done in coloured pencils. One of these works of art featured a weird-looking scaly animal with tiny hands and an oversized head. Another - Ron grinned - showed a giant spider trampling through the forest. Another showed two tall stick figures holding the hands of a little stick figure with brown hair.

"Hugh's artwork?" Ron guessed, gesturing at the drawings.

Mrs Somerville glanced over her shoulder at the pictures. "He likes to draw. Keeps him occupied for awhile, at least." She smiled sadly and pointed to the picture of the stick figures. "Him and his parents."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry for…for your loss." That was what people had said at Fred's funeral, the endless procession of murmuring people, so it was probably the right thing to say.

Hugh's grandmother sighed deeply, the way Ron's mother did lately. "Thank you. It was just so sudden, such a shock…they were so young. They were in the car, going over Castle Eaton Bridge in Swindon - that one that collapsed, you might have heard. It was so bizarre - just in the wrong place at the wrong time - but when the Lord calls you to Him…" She quickly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and then set to work finishing Ron's sandwich with renewed vigour.

Something about this story made Ron feel unsettled; it felt manufactured. _Like a Muggle-worthy excuse_, Ron thought, suddenly horrified. Many Muggles had also died at the hands of Voldemort and his followers this past year...Ron quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. He had come here for a reason today and although he was dreading it, he thought it was best to get it over with quickly.

"Um, I've been meaning to ask you," Ron said, trying desperately not to sound phony, "you haven't seen anyone, er, strange around here, have you?"

Mrs Somerville knit her eyebrows together as she walked over with a plate in her hand. "Strange? How so?"

Ron took a deep breath. "My friend Harry, he's...well, there's some people who are sort of, um, unhappy with him at the moment."

Mrs Somerville stiffened as she placed Ron's sandwich in front of him. "What do you mean?" Her voice had changed somehow, had become cooler.

"It's not...it's not like that," Ron said quickly. He cursed himself. He should have known he'd mess this up. Wishing desperately that he had thought to ask Hermione to come with him, he blurted out, "Harry's – he's in uh, law enforcement, you see."

He saw Mrs Somerville's body become less rigid, and he knew he had said the right thing. "There's a group of people who he's made life difficult for," Ron continued quickly, "and we're a bit worried they might try to do something stupid."

Mrs Somerville sunk into the chair opposite him. "What sort of people are these?" she asked nervously.

"They're a..." Ron cast around for a Muggle-appropriate word, "they're a gang. Men, mostly. Dress in black."

Mrs Somerville looked anxious. "Should we call the police...?"

"No," said Ron, and the taken aback look on Mrs Somerville's face made him realize he had said it too quickly. "No, no...they already know. They've got people keeping watch over the area already." Mrs Somerville visibly relaxed a bit. "It's nothing to worry about, really, but I just wanted you and your husband to be aware...you know, just in case. Keep a close eye on Hugh, don't let him go wandering about the forest or away from the farmhouse, you know?"

Mrs Somerville looked so worried that Ron felt awful for ruining their relatively peaceful, easy way of life. But it needed to be done. He couldn't have the kid running around on his own when there were Death Eaters about. The Fidelius charm would not protect the Somervilles off the farm, and he wanted them to be aware and on their guard.

Before Mrs Somerville could inquire further, they heard the front door squeak open and slam shut, and then Hugh was hurtling into the kitchen as if he had been shot in there by cannon. He ran straight into his grandmother and hit her with such force that he nearly knocked the poor woman out of her chair.

"Goodness gracious!" Mrs Somerville exclaimed. "What's got into you?"

"Granny _guess what_?" Hugh bellowed, hopping up and down excitedly. His grandfather trailed wearily into the kitchen after him. He noticed Ron at the table and raised a hand in greeting.

"Hugh, you've got a guest," Mrs Somerville said, turning Hugh around firmly so that he spotted Ron at the table.

"Ron _guess what_?" Hugh shouted out again. Apparently the person who did the guessing was flexible.

"What, Hugh?"

"In town, Grandpa and I saw _a witch_!"

Ron nearly choked on his sandwich. Alarmed, he looked to Mr Somerville, who was smiling ruefully.

"She was wearing all black, and she had a broom, and she chased me with it!" said Hugh triumphantly.

"He's talking about poor old Mrs Boone," Mr Somerville explained. He turned to Ron. "Her husband passed on last year but she still runs his hardware store in town with her son. Hugh was messing about in the store and she chased him out with her broom."

Hugh bobbed his head up and down. Ron's heart rate slowed as he realized that Hugh could not possibly recognize a real witch.

"Don't call people witches, Hugh, it's rude," his grandmother said severely. "Now wash up and I'll fix you some lunch."

"I'm not hungry 'cause Grandpa and I got some lunch in town and can I go play with Ron?" Hugh managed to say this all in one breath.

"Ron's eating right now."

"It's all right, I'm finished," Ron said, cramming the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth and pushing his chair back. Although the Somervilles were kind people, he was eager to get out of the farmhouse before he slipped up and said something foolish by Muggle standards. "Let's go and see if it's stopped raining, Hugh. If it's not too wet maybe we can go for a walk."

"Yeah!" Hugh began to bolt from the kitchen, then skidded to a halt and said, "Can I?"

Mrs Somerville got out of her chair, walked over to her grandson and carefully bent down so that she was face-to-face with him. Hugh stood very still and looked frightened by the expression on his grandmother's face.

"Listen to me, young man," she said sternly. "You can go with Ron today, but you're not to go for walks or into the forest anymore without a grown-up. You stay on the farm. You don't go further than the red post at the end of the drive if you're by yourself. Do you understand me?"

A wide-eyed Hugh was quick to nod assent. His grandmother gave a tired smile to Ron as she stood up. "Thank you for the warning, Ron. And for being so kind and taking care of him. Be careful, please, Hugh."

Ron followed Hugh outside, the screen door slamming shut behind him. The rain had stopped and some rays of sunlight had managed to poke through the clouds. To Hugh's delight, Ron deemed it fair enough weather to go exploring in the forest. Hugh cheerfully led the way, chattering excitedly about the alleged witch in town, Mrs Boone. Ron tried to focus and pay attention, but his thoughts had gone spiralling back towards the pricing problems at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"I think she has a black cat, or maybe it's a black _and_ white cat, I can't remember," Hugh was saying as he found the spot where they normally entered the forest ravine. He carefully made his way down the steep slope, grasping tree trunks and branches to avoid slipping in the mud. Ron followed, trying to banish all thoughts of the shop. Hugh skipped down the last bit of the slope. He waited for Ron at the bottom, where the ground levelled off.

"And d'you know what?" Hugh's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think she cast a spell on Mr Boone and _killed_ him."

Ron felt suddenly queasy. A flash of Fred's face, his expression frozen in laughter, his eyes glassy; Lupin and Tonks, laid out side-by-side in the Great Hall.

Ron's expression must have mirrored his thoughts, because Hugh's eyes began raking his face worriedly. In an uncharacteristic display of perceptiveness, the boy hastily said, "I don't think she actually did, though. I don't. Ron? I don't."

"I know," said Ron. He carefully pushed all morbid thoughts and shop-related worries aside and focused on the little boy. "So she's got a cat, does she? What other sort of things does a witch have?" He knew Muggles had an outdated, unrealistic concept of witches and he was curious to know what Hugh's impressions were.

"Well," said Hugh thoughtfully, kicking a stone along as he walked, "they wear all black and sometimes they got a cape. And I saw one movie called _The Wizard of Oz_, and that witch was green, but Mrs Boone isn't. And they got warts." Hugh made a face and then lowered his voice. "Mrs Boone has the warts," he admitted.

Ron threw back his head and laughed, and Hugh seemed pleased. Hugh laughed too, and then suddenly changed subjects. "Soon I hafta go to _school_," he announced. Hugh pronounced the word "school" as if it left a very bad taste in his mouth.

"School's not so bad," Ron said. "You'll make new friends…learn a lot…"

Hugh looked sceptical. "Like what?"

Ron wracked his brain for things Muggles might teach other Muggles at Hugh's age. He tried to remember the non-magical basics that his mother had patiently taught him and his brothers and sister in the days before Hogwarts. "Er…you know, reading and writing…counting…erm…Latin…"

"What's _Latin_?"

"Well, maybe not Latin," Ron said quickly. He caught a sudden flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. "Hey...did you see that?"

Hugh shrugged; he had lost interest in the conversation for the moment and was inspecting a ladybug as it crawled across a tree stump. Ron stuck his hand in his pocket and felt the reassuring weight of his wand. He moved forward cautiously, scanning the forest, his senses suddenly heightened. Hugh was behind him and not paying attention, so Ron drew his wand and carefully pointed it ahead of him.

Ron whirled and nearly blasted a jackrabbit as it darted out from underneath a log. He watched the rabbit dart away, and then his shoulders relaxed and he put his wand back in his pocket, feeling relieved. As he headed back towards Hugh, Ron made a mental note to ask Hermione if it would weaken their Anti-Apparition and Disapparition spells if they extended them as far as the forest.

Hugh had abandoned the ladybug and was contemplating a tree with low branches. His fists were clenched at his side, his tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth, and his forehead was furrowed in deep concentration.

"I don't need to go to school," Hugh suddenly announced. "I'm gonna build a house in this tree and live in the forest."

"That sounds brilliant," said Ron. "You won't get any homework living in a tree." He glanced up and the sky, which had started to cloud over again, and said, "Come on, we should go. I think it's going to rain again."

But Hugh had made up his mind to build a house in that tree, and he seemed to be set upon starting right then. He swung his short leg over one of the very low branches and scrambled up onto it. A look of triumph lit up his round face as he slowly rose to his feet, balancing precariously on the branch. He steadied himself and reached for the next branch above him.

"Hey," said Ron, suddenly attentive. "Get down from there."

"Watch, I can climb really high," Hugh called down to Ron as he managed to swing himself up to the next branch. He scrambled onto the branch and lay on his stomach for a moment. Then he shakily got to his knees, pushing against the tree trunk with one hand for support.

"Hugh," Ron said anxiously, "get down."

"No," said Hugh stubbornly. He got to his feet and teetered as he reached for the next branch.

Ron began to get nervous. He reached for his wand again and clenched his fist around it in his pocket, reluctant to use magic in front of Hugh. He would have no choice if the boy fell. Even then, Ron worried that he would not get the wand out in time, would not be able to blurt out a spell before Hugh hit the ground.

"Hugh, seriously, get down. You're going to hurt yourself."

"I never ever fall," Hugh insisted.

"Oh good, I feel much better now," Ron said sarcastically. "Get down before I shake you out of the ruddy tree."

Hugh laughed. "Try to!"

"Hugh, I am _not_ joking." Ron began to panic. The boy had somehow scrambled to dizzying heights.

"You're scared," Hugh said in a singsong voice, flinging out his arms to keep his balance.

"Yeah I am scared, I'm scared you're going to fall and break your bloody neck!"

"I won't!" Hugh swayed as he stood on his tiptoes and he tried to reach up to the next branch. Ron felt his panic rise to a crescendo.

"Hugh... "

"It's fun!"

"Get out of the bloody tree!"

"No!"

"NOW!"

"NO!"

"FRED, GET _DOWN_!" Ron roared.

He froze, and Hugh did as well, sensing that Ron was no longer safe to disobey. Hugh meekly scrambled down out of the tree while the word echoed through the forest and banged around in Ron's head. _Fred…Fred…Fred… _He felt like he had taken a knife and accidentally stabbed himself in the heart.

Hugh dropped out of the tree and walked sheepishly over to Ron, who stared at him wordlessly. He felt angry and relieved and heartsick.

"Who's Fred?" Hugh finally asked.

"My brother," Ron said shortly. "He's dead." The knife in his heart twisted.

"Oh," said Hugh, and Ron felt a rush of gratitude that the boy hadn't learned to say, _Sorry for your loss_. "Like Mummy and Daddy."

"Yeah."

"What happened to him?" Hugh asked, picking up a stick and twirling it around his chubby fingers.

"He died in an accident."

"Mummy and Daddy died in an accident too." Hugh paused for a moment and dropped the stick. "I don't like accidents," he said quietly.

"Me neither," said Ron. The two of them began to head back towards the farmhouse.

"Listen, Hugh," Ron said after a few moments of silence. "You've got to be more careful. Listen to your grandparents. Don't go wandering in the forest by yourself anymore, understand?"

"Okay."

"Wait for me to come over and we'll go play in the forest together, all right?"

"All right."

"And...and if you see any people," Ron said urgently, "any bad people, you run away, all right?"

Hugh had been staring at his feet as they walked along, but now he looked up at Ron quizzically. "Why? Are there bad guys in the forest?"

"Sometimes."

Hugh's eyes widened. "Like what kinda bad guys?"

"Evil wizards," Ron said on a whim. There was no harm in it. Hugh's world was half-make believe, half-reality, where widows with brooms became witches.

Hugh's jaw dropped. "NO WAY."

"Yes way. So if you see any, run away, all right?"

Hugh nodded vehemently.

"Good," Ron sighed, knowing that warning Hugh to run away was not enough if Death Eaters were to actually show up in Arbour Glen. As long as Hugh stayed on the farm, though, he would be fine.

Ron watched the boy skip ahead of him on the path home. He knew why he had called him by his brother's name. Hugh was impish and daring and fearless like Fred; he had all the makings of a Weasley twin. Ron swallowed a lump in his throat and thought about how much he missed the brother he had lost – but he also missed the one he had still. Feeling suddenly full of resolve, Ron dropped Hugh off at the farmhouse, walked to the edge of their Anti-Disapparition spells, and disappeared with a new sense of purpose.

* * *

Ron pounded on George's bedroom door for a full two minutes before there was any sound of stirring within the darkened room. They heard bedsprings creak, and then a muffled voice croak, "What?"

"Get out here, you git," Ron snapped. "There's someone here to see you."

He had asked Ginny to take their mother out for the afternoon before attempting this. Ron had a feeling that it would be ugly, and in her fragile state, his mother didn't need to see or hear whatever might happen.

Some further shuffling, then George flung open the door. He looked even worse for wear than before – there were very dark circles around his bloodshot eyes, and the distinct smell of Firewhisky lingered about him. George opened his mouth to snap at Ron, but the words seemed to die in his throat when he saw who else stood at the door.

Verity's hot pink robes and perfectly coifed hair stood in stark contrast to the mess that was George Weasley. Her face initially betrayed a hint of shock at his appearance, but then she drew herself up to her full height and stared him down disapprovingly.

"What are you doing here?" George muttered.

"Mr Weasley, have you been _drinking_?" Verity asked disdainfully.

"Go away," George mumbled, trying to close the door. Ron lodged himself in between the door and the doorframe, and then shoved the door fully open with his shoulder. George stumbled backwards.

"You need to get out of the house. Now. The shop is a mess," said Ron sharply. "The shop that you and Fred worked so hard for."

"Inventory is low. The customers are unhappy. Allegra and I are overworked and overwhelmed," said Verity. "And to make matters worse, someone is sabotaging the products. We're losing money and stock and we can't possibly keep it running on our own. Please, George. We need you back."

Verity had dropped the formalities she usually used to address the twins at the shop, and her voice had become pleading. George said nothing in response for a few moments. He stared at the floor and kicked an empty bottle of Firewhisky under his bed.

"I can't," he said finally, his voice cracking. "I can't without him."

Ron tried to force away the feelings of pity that overwhelmed him. This was not how it was supposed to go. He had to be tough. Everyone had been tip-toeing around George for weeks; Ron had resolved that the only thing which would get his brother on his feet was to shock him back into reality.

As Ron contemplated his next move, he saw Verity abruptly step forward into George's room. She stared at him furiously for a moment, and then slapped him across the face with all her might. George stumbled, and Ron's eyebrows shot up. That would do it.

"How _dare_ you," Verity hissed at George as he raised a hand to his cheek, looking stunned. "Your brother would be ashamed if he could see you right now. Absolutely appalled. Do you think this is what Fred would want you to become? A drunk living in his bedroom, moping about for the rest of his life?"

George rubbed his face with his hands. "You don't understand..." he moaned.

"_I_ don't understand?" Verity cried, her voice shaking. Ron looked at Verity and the thing he had suspected was confirmed. Her normally composed and efficient guise had faded. She was shaking and blinking furiously to hold back tears.

"I know you miss him," she said in a strangled voice. "I miss him. But we can't do _this_ - " She gestured to the darkened bedroom. "He would be disgusted. Think about it."

George seemed to crumple. "I just...don't know how to do anything without him," he muttered.

"He's dead," Ron snapped. George winced visibly, and Ron winced inwardly. He hated saying it, but it had to be said. "But you aren't. So I need you to get your arse out of bed and start living again."

Slowly, George raised his head to look at Ron. His eyes were pained, but at least they were focused. Ron took a deep breath and changed his tone.

"For Mum, George, at least. Please," he said quietly. "She's having a really hard time. She's holding it together, but I don't think she could handle it if you don't...I mean, it's bad enough we lost Fred. We can't lose you both."

George was still for what seemed like ages. Then he quietly closed his bedroom door. Verity hastily wiped tears away and smoothed her robes, avoiding eye contact with Ron. There was some banging of dresser drawers and the sound of things being thrown around from within the bedroom, and then George opened the door, dressed in one of the suits the twins used to wear to the shop. It looked slightly worse for wear, as did George, but at least he was out of his room. He looked at Verity, then at Ron.

"Know any good sobering-up charms?" he asked, managing a crooked grin.

Ron grinned back.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I'M BACK.

I apologize profusely for the lengthy absence and the (literally) years between updates on this fic. I'm determined to get it finished, though, and the end of Deathly Hallows and the movie franchise made me feel that it's time to get this story done. Please review and let me know what you thought of this new chapter – I had it half-written long ago but did a lot of revising and changing around over the last few days before posting it.


	13. Chapter 12: The Archives

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 12: The Archives**

The discovery of Hermione's great-grandfather's magical abilities had given her purpose again, and she had thrown herself into finding out everything about him that she possibly could. Over the past few weeks, they had sought out every last photo album, file folder, letter or scribbled note that had belonged to Grandma Jean's family. In the meantime, Grandma Jean soaked up knowledge about the wizarding world like a sponge. She wanted to know everything – wizarding history and the structure of the Ministry of Magic, spells, enchantments, curses and charms, what Hogwarts was like and what Hermione studied there, even whether or not wizards watched television. After the two of them had spent several days together in the attic for hours on end, Hermione's father finally came up to investigate. He found them hunched over a battered fedora that Hermione was transfiguring into a parakeet.

"Hermione!" her father choked out as the parakeet flew onto his head and turned back into the fedora.

"It's all right, Dad, she knows," Hermione said casually. She turned back to Grandma Jean. "Transfiguration is considered one of the more challenging practical subjects, especially when you're transfiguring things into living objects. The circulatory system is a nightmare to get right."

Dad looked from Hermione to Grandma Jean, stunned. "Mother...how...?"

So they sat him down and explained everything. Then when Mum came up a half hour later to investigate why Dad hadn't returned, they did the same for her.

The atmosphere in the Granger household changed perceptibly after that. Hermione's and Grandma Jean's enthusiasm was infectious. Soon Mum and Dad were traipsing through the attic with them, digging up anything that looked as though it may have belonged to Grandma Jean or her family. What Grandma Jean thought was a pile of old recipe books actually turned out to be a stack of magical books from the turn of the century, charmed to appear differently to Muggle eyes. There was _A_ _History of Quidditch in Britain and Ireland_ published in 1892, featuring a photo of the Chudley Cannons holding up the Quidditch Cup (Hermione somehow knew that the Cannons had not won the Cup since), a first edition of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, and a thin hardcover book called _Crossing the Seas: The Possibility of a Trans-Atlantic Broomstick Flight_. Hermione even found a battered old version of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3_ by someone called Hawthorne Huttle. But no matter how many times she showed the books to Grandma Jean or her parents, all they could see were recipes for coq au vin.

While they worked, Hermione continued to answer Grandma Jean's seemingly endless questions about the magical world, as well as the ones that popped up from her parents. Soon she found herself opening up about more recent, personal events. Over several days she spilled out the whole story of Voldemort's return and defeat, and she found herself going into more detail than she ever had before with her parents. In the past, Hermione had either been too afraid to give them any dangerous information, or they had been too afraid to ask. There was one rainy evening at the end of August when it all came out; the four of them were sitting in the conservatory having tea, and suddenly, Hermione found herself blurting out everything about the Battle of Hogwarts. As Hermione recounted that horrific night - every gruesome detail, every terrifying moment - she felt a great weight lift from her chest.

When her words finally died away, no one said anything for a long time. Then, finally, Mum sat up in her chair. Her hands fluttered to her throat and then fell into her lap again. "It's just so...it's just so difficult to believe," she said in a small voice. "You fought in a...in a battle. People were killed. You're a _teenager_, for heaven's sake!"

"Why is it so difficult to believe?" said Grandma Jean. "People her age have fought in many battles. My neighbours and my schoolmates were teenagers as well, but they fought in the war all the same. You have a difficult time believing it, Helen, because the world – well, our world anyway – has been at relative peace for so many years."

Mum peered into her tea and was quiet for a moment. "I just can't imagine her doing it all on her own," she finally said. "We were away, we would have never even known if she..."

"But you understand now, don't you?" Hermione said. "You understand why I had to send the both of you away?"

"I still wish you hadn't," said Dad quietly. "We could have helped. We should have been there for you. We should have protected _you_, not the other way around."

"But there was nothing you could have really done, Dad. If they had found you, you would have been defenceless. They could have done things..." Hermione trailed off and clasped her hands in her lap. "You would have told them everything about me, and Harry, and Ron, and they would have used it against us," she continued in a low voice. "By hiding away you _did_ protect me."

"It still doesn't sit well," Mum said softly. "I understand why you did it now, but it still doesn't sit well. We're your parents. We're supposed to take care of you. I feel so useless."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and thought desperately of something to say, but she was saved by Grandma Jean snapping, "Well of course you're useless, Helen, you can't even brew a proper cup of tea. Tea in little bags, _honestly_. Whatever happened to proper tea leaves?"

There was one thing that Hermione felt a bit guilty about. She had not told them about the Death Eaters that were still out there, or the threat against Harry. No good could come of telling them, she reasoned; there was no need for her parents or her grandmother to panic. Still, she surreptitiously placed several security wards over the house, just to be safe.

Meanwhile, despite their scouring of the attic, Hermione's great-grandfather was still a mystery to her. His name was Caleb Mullican and from what she could find, his parents had been Muggles as well. She was thrilled to discover that, like her, he appeared to have had an interest in magical creatures. Her visit to the Wizengamot Administration Offices had confirmed that her great-grandfather had worked for the Ministry, but not in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as she had suspected. Grandma Jean's admission that he had been killed at work had made Hermione think that he might have been an Auror. Instead, Caleb Mullican had been an employee in the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures, as it was known at the time. Aside from this, however, Hermione did not have much else to go on. She had written to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures asking them for information, and had received an apologetic response a few days later, explaining that they were attempting to restructure after the chaotic year they had just had, and would be in touch when their filing cabinets stopped attacking employees.

"I guess this means you're not really Muggle-born, then, are you?" said Harry one afternoon while they were sitting on his front porch, keeping watch at Arbour Glen.

"Of course I am," said Hermione rather sharply. "My parents are Muggles, aren't they?"

Harry looked up from the preparatory N.E.W.T. Potions book he had been perusing. Hermione had pointed out that Potions was likely to be his weakest subject in the upcoming school year, as he had wasted the first few years of Potions lessons being angry at Snape, and then ironically had been completely reliant on Snape's old textbook throughout his sixth year. With only once-per-week lessons, it would be a miracle if he could get the required "E" in his N.E.W.T. In an uncharacteristic display of self-discipline, Harry had actually gone to the trouble of buying the Potions prep book and had been looking through it.

"Sorry," Harry said, taken aback. "I just meant..."

"It's okay, I didn't mean to snap," said Hermione apologetically. "It's just that...being a Muggle-born has sort of defined me for better or worse, I guess. I'm quite proud of it now. My great-grandfather was Muggle-born as well, you know. I can't trace it back any further than him. But I suppose every Muggle family must have had some magical blood in it at some point."

Hermione rested her chin on her hand and watched a vine crawl up and curl around the banister on Harry's front porch. "One thing I don't quite understand is how my grandmother and her siblings didn't inherit any magical ability," she mused. "I've been reading up on it, and some scholars think that, when there's only one magical parent involved, it skips generations. Magical genealogy is a really fascinating subject, you know, I'd love to learn more about it..."

Hermione saw that Harry had tuned out and returned to his book, so she gave up and continued poring over some old letters from Caleb to her great-grandmother.

Between researching her family history, explaining the magical world and its principles to Grandma Jean, spending long-overdue time with her parents, visiting with Ron, and watching over Arbour Glen with Harry, Hermione's plate was full - which, she reflected, was how she preferred things to be. She was so busy that when the summer was over, Hermione barely had time to reflect that for the first time in centuries, students would not be boarding the Hogwarts Express on the first of September.

* * *

When no response came after a second letter to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione began to get impatient. They had searched the attic from top to bottom, and still they knew nothing more about her great-grandfather's magical career. Finally, Hermione decided to go into the Ministry personally again.

"Do you think your Dad might be able to help?" Hermione asked Ron once she was resolved to go back to the Ministry. She was helping him to sort out the back room at the joke shop, which seemed to be under much better control now that George was at the helm again.

"Dunno. Dad probably knows someone in Magical Creatures." Ron's head was shoved into a crate marked _Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs._ "Or maybe Percy. Why?"

"I just don't want to barge into the Ministry unannounced. Things are a bit mad there at the moment, but I'd really like to see if there's anything at all I can find out before school starts up again."

She paused for a moment, hoping that Ron would reveal if he had decided to go back to Hogwarts now that George was running the shop again, but he was busy sorting fireworks and didn't seem to catch the hint. Hermione sighed and dragged a box labelled _Miscellaneous _over to herself. "Do you think your dad could take me in one day? Introduce me to some people? If it's not too much trouble."

"Yeah, bet he could," said Ron. "Hey, what was that charm you used on that bag of yours? The one where you kept all our stuff this past year?"

"An Undetectable Extension Charm."

"Yeah, that one. Do you think we could use it on some of these crates and things? We've got too much merchandise and not enough room back here."

"I don't see why not, I could – ouch!" Hermione withdrew her hand from the box she had been sorting through.

"What?" Ron asked, emerging from the crate of fireworks. "You all right?"

"Yes, just pricked my finger on something inside here." Hermione gestured to the box and sucked on the injured finger.

Ron came over and eyed the box she had been extricating product from. "Uh oh. _Miscelleanous. _That's never good. You might get a nosebleed or turn into a canary or something. Let me see."

"Really, Ron, it's nothing," said Hermione, but she gave him her finger anyway, secretly enjoying him fussing over her. Ron held her finger gently and inspected the injury.

"Honestly," said Ron seriously, "I'm not sure you're going to make it."

Hermione laughed. Then Ron did something unexpected. Very slowly, he lifted her finger to his lips, and staring at her very steadily, kissed it. Hermione felt a jolt in her stomach and a shiver run down her spine. She wasn't sure why such a small gesture made her feel breathless, but it did. She stared back at Ron, heartbeat quickening.

The door suddenly flew open with a bang as George barged into the room. Ron quickly dropped Hermione's hand, his ears turning red. Hermione tried not to sigh – how exactly did this work in a normal relationship? Was everyone doomed to be constantly interrupted, or was it just the two of them?

"Oi, Ron," George said, striding over. He abruptly stopped, looked from Ron to Hermione, and said, "Am I interrupting? That is, is there anything to interrupt yet? We're all not quite sure, you're both very vague."

Ron ignored him. "What do you want?"

"The Ton-Tongue Toffees are still walking off the shelves. Can't be bothered with it right now, can you just put out a fresh supply when you're not, ah, busy?"

"Yeah," said Ron. George winked at Hermione, and then disappeared back into the shop.

"He's getting better, isn't he?" said Hermione.

Ron smiled as he enchanted a box of Ton-Tongue Toffees to follow him into the shop. "I'll talk to Dad. He can probably bring you into the Ministry tomorrow."

Mr Weasley agreed, and the next day Hermione met him at the new visitor's entrance outside an off-license on Upper Street in London. They entered through an old-fashioned police box that Muggles seemed oblivious to (Mr Weasley did not know who Doctor Who was, but seemed very interested when Hermione tried to explain the television series). As they went through the normal security procedures, Hermione thought of the weeks of planning and preparation that she, Harry, and Ron had done in order to get into the Ministry less than a year ago. This was her second visit to the Ministry in the past month, and it seemed almost laughable that this place had been an impenetrable fortress to them. The security guard was actually enthusiastic about inspecting her wand when she told him who she was, and informed her proudly that his son had her chocolate frog card.

Fortunately, the lifts seemed to have been repaired since the last time she had come; it only returned to the Atrium by accident once.

"So he travels through time, you say," Mr Weasley mused once the lift was on its way again. "And you're sure he's not a wizard?"

Hermione stared at him blankly for a moment before realizing that he was still pondering Doctor Who. "No – no, I think he's an alien or something, actually."

"An alien," Mr Weasley chuckled quietly to himself. "Brilliant."

Hermione tried to look Mr Weasley over without seeming obvious. He looked tired and his skin had a greyish hue to it. Hermione knew that he had been promoted since the war; he was now overseeing an inter-departmental effort to clean up some of the chaos Voldemort and his followers had left in the Muggle world. Ron had told her that his father was working round-the-clock, but Hermione suspected that Mr Weasley's working overtime was just another symptom rather than the cause of what was truly ailing him.

"I'll introduce you to Mathilda," said Mr Weasley as the golden grilles opened at Level Four. Hermione followed him down a long, empty corridor. "She's in charge of all the record-keeping and administrative stuff, but she's also ended up more or less running the department. I think they'd all be lost without her, honestly."

They came to what looked like a reception area. A blue sign that read _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures _floated overtop a long desk. On the desk were two placards reading:

_Please note that any problems with a familial house-elf are considered a __domestic matter__. Therefore, we regret to inform you that a complaint cannot be filed with the Dept. For the Reg. And Cont. Of Magical Creatures. Thank you._

and,

_IMPORTANT: Any cattle exhibiting strange behaviour (ie. sprouting feathers, belching flames, etc.) should be reported directly to Bob Grissweld in the Beast Division. Thank you._

A plump little witch in a floral print dress was sitting behind the desk, dictating orders to two different quills racing over two different pieces of parchment. Opposite the desk were a few hard little plastic chairs; one was occupied by a man with singed hair and eyebrows. He looked miserable and was filling out a thick stack of forms on his lap.

Mr Weasley leaned over the desk and cleared his throat. The plump witch raised a finger in response, finished dictating to one quill, then the other, and finally looked up. "Yes? Oh, hello Arthur. Sorry, we're just swamped at the moment. What do you need?"

"Maisie, this is Hermione Granger," said Mr Weasley. Hermione smiled uncertainly.

"I know who she is, Arthur, I wasn't born yesterday you know," said Maisie exasperatedly. She turned to Hermione. "Sorry, dear, I did get your letter but we've been swamped, you know, just swamped."

"I'm really sorry to bother you," Hermione said hurriedly. "I just – if it's not too much trouble I'd really like to look at some documents – I won't get in the way at all."

"Is Mathilda around, Maisie?" Mr Weasley asked kindly. "I thought maybe she could help."

Maisie gestured behind her vaguely. "She's in the archives, trying to sort it out. I'm so sorry dear, I'm just not sure if she'll have time. We're just swamped," she repeated.

"Think of all that the girl's done, Maisie," coaxed Mr Weasley. "Can't you give her five minutes?"

Maisie sighed loudly. After a moment, she heaved herself out of her chair. "Five minutes. But Mathilda won't be as accommodating as I am, I'm sure. Follow me, then."

"I've got to get to the office but just come find me when you're finished, Hermione," said Mr Weasley. He turned to leave and shuddered as he walked right through an angry-looking ghost who was muttering something about disrespecting his ancestors. The ghost hovered over one of the plastic chairs in the reception area to wait while Maisie led Hermione down another corridor.

They came to a silver door marked _Archives_. The door looked thick and industrial, and did not seem to have any type of doorknob or handle. Maisie took out her wand and muttered something, then shoved her shoulder up against the heavy door. She grunted as the door slowly swung open, revealing a vast, darkened chamber lined with rows upon rows of filing cabinets. Hermione stepped inside behind Maisie, her footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. It was deathly silent in the place, except for an odd sort of flapping noise. Hermione suddenly felt uneasy. She looked around for the source of the sound, reaching subconsciously for her wand.

Maisie abruptly ducked as something bat-like flew over her head. Hermione whirled to see what it was and did a double take - they were standard A4 ring binders, except that they appeared to have come alive and were beating their covers as a bird would its wings. The flock of binders swooped up and soared away, leaving a few stray papers gliding to the floor in their wake. Hermione stared after the flying binders, but Maisie looked unperturbed.

"Mathilda?" Maisie called impatiently. "I need you to give this girl five minutes of your time. She was very important in the battle against You-Know...that is, Vold...emort. Hermione Granger, you know." She nodded to Hermione and sashayed out the door. It clanged shut behind her and the sound echoed through the cavernous chamber.

Hermione stood alone next to a row of filing cabinets, feeling silly. Once the echo disappeared, she could hear nothing but the sound of the binders beating their "wings" above her. There was no sign of anyone named Mathilda. Hermione stood on her tiptoes and tried to look over the long row of filing cabinets nearest to her, but all she could see were more filing cabinets. "Hello?" she said timidly.

Someone suddenly burst from behind a cabinet and tackled one of the low-flying binders to the ground. The witch grimaced as she took her wand out from behind her ear and muttered, "_Inanitamorium_." The binder gave a jerk and then lay still.

The witch stood up and brushed herself off. She was middle-aged, her blonde hair pinned up with loose strands tumbling down her neck and around her ears. She wore square-shaped glasses with thick black frames, and her eyes were grey and steely behind them. Her robes were fitted and looked professional, but she was quite clearly wearing white trainers underneath them.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" the witch asked shortly.

"Hermione Granger," she replied hesitantly. "Um...I'm sorry if I've come at a bad time..."

One of the drawers of the filing cabinet nearest to Hermione suddenly sprang open, nearly knocking her over. The witch quickly flicked her wand at it and the drawer slammed shut.

"Mathilda Van der Kerk," the witch introduced herself. She flung an arm out to encompass the chamber. "Keep your eyes peeled in here. We've been having trouble with our records since bloody Walden MacNair was made Head during the 'dark days', as it were. We think he cursed everything back here so no one else could get into the files while the Death Eaters were running things. Or maybe he did it right before he got sent to Azkaban, just to stick it to us. It's a nightmare."

Another binder flapped by overhead, and Mathilda tried to hit it with the same spell she had the first. The binder dipped at the last minute and the spell went wide. Mathilda swore at it.

"So what do you need? Weren't you the one looking for a long-lost relative or something?" Mathilda asked impatiently.

"Yes. He..."

"Aren't you a Muggle-born, though?" Mathilda interrupted. "I thought that's what I read."

Hermione still felt a bit unsettled when she was recognized by people, or when they knew personal things about her. "Well, yes – well, no – it turns out my great-grandfather was a wizard," she said in a rush. "He worked in this department in the 1920's and 1930's, and I'd like to find out more about him and what he was working on."

Mathilda gave a hollow laugh. "Good luck. We can't even find records filed last week. Heads up!" she suddenly said sharply. A group of binders had decided to dive-bomb Hermione.

Hermione whipped out her wand. "_Inanitamorium!" _she cried. Two of them dropped out of the air and lay lifeless at her feet, their contents rustling gently before coming to a rest.

Mathilda nodded appreciatively. "Good one. Listen, I'd like to help you but I've no idea even where to start. Things back here are impossible at the moment."

"I can help," Hermione blurted out without thinking. "I can help out – help you organize things a bit. And I can look while I'm at it."

Mathilda silently peered at her through her square lenses until Hermione began to feel uncomfortable. "All right," she said finally. "I guess you're probably competent, what with killing You-Know-Who off and all. When can you start?"

"Right now," said Hermione eagerly.

And that was how she came to spend the afternoon wrestling binders and defending against filing cabinets at the Ministry of Magic. Hermione and Mathilda didn't say much to one another; mostly they worked silently trying to organize records dating as far back as the 1700's, or darted around trying to wrestle office supplies that had come to life. Hermione eagerly combed through anything that she found dated around the early 20th century, but to her disappointment, found nothing about her great-grandfather.

At the end of the day, the two of them sat silently with their backs against a filing cabinet, exhausted. It was finally quiet in the dark chamber; there were no more binders flapping around, or office supplies trying to bite them, and for now, most of the filing cabinets seemed pacified. After a few moments of sitting there together in weary silence, Mathilda turned to Hermione and looked at her appraisingly.

"So," she said. "Can you come back tomorrow?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Thank you so much to those of you leaving such lovely reviews and for the warm welcome back. Your feedback has been so positive and encouraging as I attempt to slug through this thing and finally get it done.

P.S. For anyone who hasn't seen Doctor Who, it's a bit of a cult phenomenon in England that I couldn't escape while I was there. They had a sweet shout-out to HP in one of the episodes, so I thought it only fair to throw a reference to the Doctor in here.


	14. Chapter 13: A House Elf's Highest Law

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 13: A House-Elf's Highest Law**

Despite the daily possibility of Death Eater attack, Harry was surprised to find that for the first time he could remember in a long while, he felt relatively content. Things with Ginny were better than he could ever have hoped. She was his most frequent visitor in the long parade of people who kept watch with him at Arbour Glen. Harry found that an unexpected benefit of owning his own home was the privacy it afforded him and Ginny. They were a bit awkward with one another after their first passionate tryst in the garden had been interrupted by Luna; but bit by bit they gained confidence, and when they both finally realized that there was no danger of a sleepy Gryffindor coming down the common room stairs, or a teacher rounding the bend and finding them in their secret place by the lake, the result was many wonderful hours spent together at Arbour Glen.

Meanwhile, Harry had thrown himself into studying with a dedication he had never shown in his six years at Hogwarts. Professors McGonagall, Slughorn, Flitwick, Sprout, and Brigstocke had agreed to teach him private N.E.W.T. classes once per week after Hogwarts re-opened. In the meantime, Gawain Robards, the head of the Auror Division, had agreed to let Harry begin the first year of Auror training on a provisional basis. If Harry was able to complete the required minimum of five N.E.W.T.'s with nothing below an "Exceeds Expectations" grade by the end of his first year as a trainee, he would be able to continue on with Auror training. If he wasn't successful, he would be kicked out of the program, which Harry had firmly decided was not going to happen.

Harry's first official year of Auror training began in January, but he had already started some of the preliminary testing. Thus far, Harry had been subjected to an interview by a panel of Aurors (including, to Harry's chagrin, The Foot) and had undergone psychological tests for character and aptitude assessment. However, since Harry's life was and had always been more or less an open book, none of the testing had been overly rigorous. At the interview the Foot had sat there, frowning, while other wizards asked Harry questions like, "Give us an example of a time where you had to make a difficult decision during a highly stressful...right, er, scrap that one..." During Harry's psychological assessment, the Auror testing him seemed less interested in Harry's psyche and more interested in a detailed play-by-play of what had happened during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry found himself often reviewing his timeline mentally – begin lessons at Hogwarts when it reopened in November. Pass his practical exams for the Auror training program in December. Begin his first year as a trainee in January while still attending lessons at Hogwarts. His N.E.W.T.'s would be in July, and his first year as a trainee would end the following December. This timeline intimidated him enough that when Hermione suggested he start preparing early, for once Harry took her advice to heart and went on a mad spending spree, buying every book he possibly could to help him prepare for his five N.E.W.T. subjects (including a somewhat embarrassing one entitled _The Dimwit's Guide to a N.E.W.T. Potions Pass_). He had never felt so motivated to succeed in school and exams in his entire life.

He was lucky to have people around him who were supportive and willing to help. Ginny had been his partner in practicing for the Defense practical, although many of their duels seemed to either end with the two of them snogging or with Harry lying on the sofa with some type of injury. Ginny was quite the dueller and quite the competitor. Harry was reluctant to hex his girlfriend, and had gone easy on her until it had become painfully obvious that she did not intend to go easy on him. Herbology had been one of Harry's N.E.W.T. choices mostly because Neville was sort of a genius when it came to the subject and had been happy to help out whenever he was over. Hermione had been trying to give him lessons on Charms and Transfiguration when she wasn't at home or busy at the Ministry - apparently she was volunteering to sort through and organize files in exchange for information on her magical heritage. ("Slave labour!" Ron had shouted. "They're treating her worse than a house-elf, no offense Kreacher. She's not even getting paid! Again, no offense, Kreacher.") It was only Potions that Harry was truly worried about, and it was Potions that he was doggedly studying day in and day out, even going so far as reviewing old notes that he didn't even remember taking in Snape's class.

All of this kept his mind off the reason for having these people at the house in the first place – the Death Eater threat that continued to loom over him. In fact, it was Ginny who finally commented on his apparent lack of concern.

"I've got to say I'm a bit surprised," she confessed on a rainy day in September. The two of them were sitting on Harry's sitting room couch, Ginny with her back against a pillow and her legs across Harry's lap. Harry had propped his Potions preparatory book up on her knees and was absently drawing little circles on Ginny's legs with his finger as he read.

"About what?" said Harry.

"Well, let me just get something straight," said Ginny. "You know that this group of Death Eaters is planning to come after you, and that they know where the house is."

"That's right."

"And you're counting on the fact that they don't know that _you_ know," Ginny continued. Harry noticed a little crease appeared in her forehead whenever she was thinking. Or when she was angry. It was dangerous; he couldn't tell which one was coming on. "So you're just waiting here, hoping to surprise them when they do attack."

"That's more or less it, yeah."

"And that's what I'm surprised at," Ginny said. "I would have thought you'd have gone mad by now, sitting around here waiting for them to turn up."

Harry put down his book, took out his own feelings on the subject and inspected them. His anger at the Death Eaters and his resentment at the Ministry seemed to have decreased significantly in the past few weeks. The guilt was still there, always there just below the surface, waiting to rise when he saw his orphaned godson or a listless Mrs Weasley - but other than that he just felt...calm. Ready.

"I guess I just...know I can wait them out," said Harry finally. "I suppose I've always known that this is what would happen after Voldemort was gone. At least we'll be ready when it does."

"But what if you're sitting here waiting for months? A year? How are you going to start Auror training in January if you have to stay here, waiting for an attack that doesn't come?"

"They'll make a move soon," said Harry, and he found himself slipping into the Death Eaters' mindsets with relative ease. "None of them are clever or cautious like Voldemort was. They're angry and they're looking for revenge. They have to come after me soon, while his death is still fresh. If they wait too long that anger won't be there anymore. They'll start thinking of themselves instead of revenge and they'll go into hiding."

Ginny regarded him warily. "You seem so sure."

Harry shrugged. Now that he understood the connection he had shared with Voldemort and knew that it was gone forever, his insights into the minds of Dark wizards no longer frightened him. He had the memories of Voldemort's mind and many years of experience to help him understand and predict the moves of Dark wizards. This talent didn't horrify him anymore; in fact, the wizard who had done Harry's psychological assessment had said it would make him a better Auror.

Harry found that he and Ginny were having many of these types of conversations. One of the things that he liked most about Ginny was that she rarely beat around the bush. She spoke her mind and somehow, this made him speak his. Harry was opening up and sharing things with her that he had never dared to before. In those golden hours spent alone, Harry found himself confessing things he would never have felt comfortable telling anyone else.

Of course, he and Ginny were never truly alone – Kreacher was always at the house, keeping the place immaculate and taking care of Harry with quiet satisfaction. However, the house-elf was particularly good at mysteriously disappearing for hours on end whenever Ginny was around, for which Harry was extremely appreciative. Thankfully, Hermione had lain off him recently when it came to Kreacher, but she must have been successful in implanting at least some of her S.P.E.W.-esque ideas into Harry's head. Harry still got twinges of guilt every now and then when he experienced the full extent of Kreacher's dogged loyalty and servitude. But any vague notions of setting him free were banished by an incident that occurred halfway through September.

It was a quiet evening at Arbour Glen. Ron was scheduled to spend the night at Arbour Glen and had come by around dinnertime after putting in some time at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. After tucking into an immense shepherd's pie courtesy Kreacher, the two of them retired to the sitting room, lying on separate couches with bloated bellies.

"How're things going at the shop?" asked Harry.

"Much better," replied Ron. "We've managed to get almost everything back to normal – George is much cleverer with Charms than I'll ever be, and he's sorted most of it out. But every now and then we still get something trying to chuck itself off a shelf. It's mad. We've tried every spell we know and we can't reverse that one."

Harry tried not to laugh; every time Ron mentioned this particular problem, he couldn't help but picture U-No-Poo's hurling themselves off the shelves and dive-bombing the customers.

"But George has come up with something to catch the idiot who's been messing around with our stuff. It's really good, actually, he invented this charm that'll give them up," Ron said, sitting up on the couch. He dug around in his pockets and emerged with a package of Nosebleed Nougat. He set it on the coffee table, pointed his wand at it and said, "_Flagrante delicto_." Nothing happened.

"Good one," said Harry.

"Nothing's supposed to happen," scoffed Ron. "Right, so, after I've put that charm on the merchandise, if someone else tries to cast any kind of spell on it..._Engorgio._"

The Nosebleed Nougat swelled to three times its size. Harry sat up and looked at the Nougat, then looked at Ron. Ron was staring at his palms with a puzzled expression on his face.

"That's weird. My hands are supposed to turn red. 'Caught red-handed', get it? That bit was my idea. So if anyone tries to cast any kind of spell on our merchandise, we'll see their hands turn bright red." Ron looked forlornly down at his hands, which were most certainly not red.

"I think your palms look a bit rosier," Harry said helpfully.

"Oh shut up, it worked this morning. _Reducio_." The Nougat shrunk back to its original size. "_Flagrante delicto._ _Pluvia_." This time the colours on the packaging of the Nougat changed to a wild mix of red, yellow, green, and blue. Ron and Harry both stared at Ron's hands expectantly. They remained pale and freckly.

"I'll get it," Ron muttered. "_Finite._ _Flagrante delicto. Engorgio..._hm, nothing. I'm probably not saying it right, I'm rubbish at new spells. _Reducio. Flagrante delicto_..."

After a few more tries Harry quietly gave up on waiting to see if the spell would work. He got up and left without Ron even noticing and went into the kitchen to look over his copy of _How to Transfigure Your N.E.W.T. Grade From A to E! _He could still hear Ron determinedly charming the Nosebleed Nougat over and over again in the sitting room. At first Harry tuned it out, but after nearly half an hour, he began to get irritated.

"_Flagrante delicto._ _Tranturella_...bollocks. _Finite_. _Flagrante felicto_ – I mean, damn, _delicto - _"

Harry realized he was reading the same passage over and over again. Kreacher came into the kitchen and set a plate of biscuits on the table in front of Harry, who absent-mindedly grabbed one and tried to get back to work.

"_Flagrante delicto._ _Malurosos_...dammit! _Finite_. _Flagrante delicto_..."

After reading the subtitle "Guaranteed Success at Multiple Guess!" five times in a row, Harry gave up and looked up from his book in annoyance.

"Kreacher, get him to stop that, will you?" said Harry irritably while chants of "_Flagrante delicto_" continued on in the sitting room. Kreacher bowed deeply and hurried into the sitting room. Harry tried to return to his book.

There was suddenly a sound like crashing thunder and a yelp from the other room. Startled, Harry grabbed his wand and leaped out of his chair, running into the sitting room.

Ron was still sitting on the couch, wand in hand, the Nosebleed Nougat sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Nothing looked amiss at first glance, but when he stared closely Harry realized that Ron looked almost as though he had been encased in glass. The air on all four sides of him was shimmering slightly, as if there was an invisible wall there. Ron could move, apparently; he looked stunned for a moment and then waved his wand uselessly at the invisible wall before him. Kreacher was standing beside him, looking unperturbed.

"Harry, what the hell - " Ron choked out.

"Kreacher!" Harry exclaimed. "What did you do?"

"Master Harry asked Kreacher to stop Master Ron from using magic," Kreacher croaked, bowing.

Ron tried to get up from the couch, but he seemed to bump into something invisible. He waved his wand furiously at the unseen wall. "_Reducto!_ _Relashio!_" Panic rose in Ron's voice. "It's not working. Why isn't it working? What's he done? I feel really weird, Harry!"

"Kreacher stopped Master Ron from using magic," Kreacher repeated, uncertain this time. "Did Kreacher misunderstand...?"

"Yeah, Kreacher, I just wanted you to shut him up, not stop him from using magic permanently!" said Harry. "Reverse it, or – or whatever!"

Kreacher snapped his fingers and the vague shimmer in the air surrounding Ron disappeared. Ron shuddered and stood up, then pointed his wand at Harry's coffee table and said, "_Wingardium leviosa_." The table began to float in midair, and Ron sighed with relief.

Meanwhile, Kreacher had abruptly thrown himself to the ground at Harry's feet and was wailing, "Kreacher is so sorry, Master, Kreacher misunderstood! He will ask for clarification next time! Kreacher is a bad house-elf, a bad servant..."

"No, no, no," Harry said quickly, trying to pull Kreacher to his feet. "Its okay, Kreacher, really." Kreacher wailed louder. "Stop that. Hey...I forbid you from er...grovelling. Or whatever it is you're doing right now. Okay?"

Kreacher snuffled and struggled to his feet, his head bowed. Harry turned to Ron. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Ron said, looking shaken. "That was bizarre. Like before – George's spell just wasn't working. I knew I _could_ do it, I just couldn't get it right. But whatever he did..." Ron trailed off and shuddered. "It was like...it was gone. Like the magic had completely gone out of me."

Harry stared at Kreacher with his bulbous nose, his wrinkled face, and his fluffy tea towel toga. He knew better than anyone that house-elves had powerful magic; Dobby had gotten them out of several binds with his unique brand of magic and Kreacher himself had escaped the very cave that had nearly killed Harry and Dumbledore. Harry had ceased to be surprised at the strong magic that Kreacher occasionally used in his day-to-day duties around the house. But he had never seen anything quite like this. Despite what Hermione thought, Harry respected and appreciated Kreacher. But this was the first time he had seen Kreacher as a being that could be feared.

"Kreacher...where did you learn to do that?"

"It is house-elf magic, Master," Kreacher croaked in his bullfrog voice, head still lowered.

"So you mean every house-elf can do that?"

"The house-elf's highest law is his master's bidding," recited Kreacher.

"Blimey," Ron said softly. "That might have been a sight useful during the battle. Why didn't we think of ordering him to do something like that?"

Harry remembered Kreacher's cries of, "Fight!" as he led the Hogwarts house-elves into battle. He had seen them attacking dangerous Dark wizards with carving knives and cleavers – up until now, Harry had never wondered why they had not used their own brand of magic in the fight. Could it be that they were forbidden to use that sort of magic to defend themselves unless they were ordered to? How much easier things would have been if the house-elves had simply snapped their fingers and sucked the magic right out of their enemies.

Something was niggling at the back of Harry's mind – an idea, starting to take shape – but he never got to fully develop his thoughts because the next moment something very odd happened.

"_Harry Potter..."_

Ron started. "D'you hear that?"

"_Harry Potter..._"

It was a feminine voice and it was not coming from any particular place, but rather, everywhere all at once. Harry's wand was out and he instinctively moved as far away from the windows as possible.

"_This is Sri. From the Auror division_," echoed the voice. "_I am approaching the house. Take down your defensive spells. I have a message_."

"Who?" said Ron blankly, but Harry was suddenly alert. He moved quickly towards the edge of the window and peered out between the curtains, his back against the wall. A lone figure was approaching the house, but it was too far away to make out who it was.

"Why aren't the Galleons doing anything?" Ron hissed, taking the enchanted coin out of his pocket. "I thought they were supposed to heat up or something when someone got within our security enchantments."

"The Alarm charm doesn't go off if someone who has one of the Galleons themselves gets onto the property. Sri's one of the Aurors, she should have one too."

"Ah, right," said Ron. He watched Harry move to the front door, still staying away from windows. "What're you sneaking around for, then?"

Harry didn't reply. He waved his wand at the front door, which flung open with a bang. Pointing his wand in the direction of the cloaked figure, Harry moved onto the front porch. Ron stepped onto the porch behind him and also pointed his wand at the figure making its way across the lawn, evidently willing to trust Harry's judgement.

"Stop right there," Harry said shortly. The figure stopped and pushed back their hood. Harry saw the dark skin and broad face of the Auror Sri. Very calmly, she held up both her hands. Something fell out of her right hand – a surrendered wand, now lying on the ground by her feet.

"Who was with you the first time you came here?" Harry demanded.

"Williamson and Proudfoot," said Sri. This time the voice was clearer and came from her alone. The shadow of a smile flickered across her face. "Williamson had your autograph framed. It's on his desk."

Harry lowered his wand and Ron did the same. Sri stooped to pick up her own wand and made her way up to the front porch while Harry disarmed a few nasty spells he and Hermione had prepared in the immediate vicinity of the house. Tendrils of ivy, which had been itching to shoot forward and throttle Sri, timidly retreated and wrapped themselves around the porch banisters.

"Someone want to tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?" Ron asked once they had gone back inside and were standing uneasily in the sitting room.

"Ron, this is – uh – sorry, I don't actually know if Sri is your first name or surname," said Harry awkwardly.

"Surname," said Sri, but she offered no other information. "You handled that well, Potter. I could have been an imposter. Very prudent."

"What was that spell you used to make your voice come in here?" asked Harry curiously.

"_Libera sonorous_," said Sri. "It projects your voice to another location. I've found it quite useful."

Harry filed the spell away for later. "So you said you have a message...?"

Sri looked grim. "There has been another escape from Azkaban."

Harry went rigid. He was surprised to find that he was not panicked or upset, though. Just alert. Every muscle in his body felt taut and primed for action.

"How many?" said Harry.

"Two known Death Eaters, and one suspected supporter of Voldemort. Mulciber, Selwynn, and Deponte."

Ron swore. "Isn't this the third bloody time Mulciber has broken out of Azkaban?"

"Azkaban prison is only a building," said Sri matter-of-factly. "It was the prison that the Dementors created in their ward's minds that kept them there. The prisoners always had the means to escape, just no ambition to do so. Without the Dementors, a building alone cannot keep a magical being in."

Harry glanced over at Kreacher, who had been quietly dusting the coffee table throughout the conversation.

"There is more," said Sri. "The escape has prompted the Ministry to reach a decision in the trial of Antonin Dolohov. They are going to release him in exchange for information about the escaped Death Eaters' whereabouts."

"WHAT?" Harry shouted. The calm he had felt before dissipated. "That's mad! What if the information he gives them is wrong, or - how could they possibly trust - ?" All he could think was, _He killed Remus, he killed Remu_s...

Sri ignored him. "Everything that I have told you will be kept from the public as long as possible, but there are those of us who thought you should know."

"Well that's brilliant," Harry burst out. "Keep information from the public, fat lot of good that's done in the past."

"The Ministry's decisions are not always wise, but in this case this one is," said Sri sharply. "You cannot be narrow-minded. Think – the wizarding world has just overcome a great shock. People are trying to put their lives back together. Do you think it would be prudent to shatter that peace and cause chaos when it appears their sole object is you, not the wizarding world at large? Do you not think that panic is what Voldemort would have wanted?"

Harry deflated. He digested the logic of her argument as he stared at the ground silently. He had to concede that Sri had a point, although he felt a bit like he had just been given a particularly good telling-off by a teacher.

"We do not know if Dolohov's information will turn out to be correct. Many of us think, like you, that he is likely lying." Sri's voice was calm and soft again. "But if there is a chance we could end this now, it has to be taken. The Aurors will be following up on Dolohov's leads tonight. We wanted to warn you – whichever way this turns out, you need to be prepared."

While she spoke, Sri had been watching Kreacher with her dark eyes. She abruptly looked away and said, "I must go. Keep your friends close tonight." She moved back into the front hall.

"Hang on!" Harry called after her. Sri stopped and waited patiently with her hand on the front doorknob. "You said there were those of you who thought I should know all this. Who exactly was it that _didn't_ want me to know?"

Sri didn't reply, so Harry said furiously, "It was Proudfoot, wasn't it? What does he have against me? Why doesn't he trust me?"

Sri turned around. Her dark eyes met and pierced Harry's.

"It was he who sent me," she said simply. Then she opened the door and disappeared into the darkening evening.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Again, thanks for all the reviews and the feedback! We're coming up close to the end here, so chapters might get a bit shorter. Also, I've been following the format of shifting POV from Harry's to Ron's to Hermione's, but it might get a bit jumbled up as the action builds up.

I'm heading off to Italy on holiday for a few weeks, but I've got the next few chapters written so I'll polish them and post them when I get back!


	15. Chapter 14: The Joke Shop Prankster

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 14: The Joke Shop Prankster**

Once Sri had left, Ron turned to Harry, who seemed to be deep in thought. "Well? What d'you reckon?"

"I think Dolohov's bluffing," Harry said. "And I think something's going to happen. Tonight."

Ron nodded, fingering his wand. He felt slightly embarrassed at his lack of prudence or helpfulness when Sri had shown up. He was supposed to be staying at Harry's to protect and fight with him in the event that the Death Eaters came for Harry. Even though Sri had not been a threat, Ron would have been next to useless if she had turned out to be an impersonator. After the year they had just gone through, Ron should have become habituated to being cautious and careful. Instead he had asked stupid questions and then followed Harry outside like a lost puppy. This was the reason, Ron thought ruefully, that Harry was going to become an Auror while he ran a joke shop.

"Where's Hermione right now?" Ron demanded, bringing himself back to the crisis at hand.

"At the Ministry, I think."

Ron swore. "Her and her bloody charity work..."

"I'll send her a message on the galleons. If she is at the Ministry, it's probably the safest place for her to be right now," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah...guess you're right," Ron said vaguely. If they were going to spring a trap for Death Eaters at Harry's place, he supposed he was glad Hermione was not around. Hugh and his family, however, were right down the road.

"Right. I'm going to go check on the Somervilles, then," said Ron. "If they stay on the farm, they should be fine, right?"

Harry nodded. "I'll stay here, double check the defensive spells - "

"Hang on a minute," Ron interrupted. "I'm not leaving you here all alone to fight off the remains of Voldemort's sodding army."

"Kreacher's here."

Ron glanced over at the house-elf. Yesterday, that statement would not have been overly comforting. But after Kreacher had done whatever that was to him earlier on...Ron shuddered involuntarily. Was that how Muggles felt all the time? Magic-less and fragile and vulnerable?

"I think we should still have some – ah – other people around," said Ron, careful not to say _some wizards_. "Send messages to Neville, Luna...I'll see who's at the Burrow."

He nearly Splinched himself trying to Apparate to the Burrow; fortunately, at the last minute he remembered the Anti-Disapparition and Apparition spells that Hermione had placed around Arbour Glen. Instead, Ron walked over to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the jar that Harry kept on the mantelpiece, and said, "The Burrow!" as he chucked it into the fire. Harry had kept the Floo network operational for ease of transportation, but only a few secure fireplaces were connected to Arbour Glen's. Ron got down on his knees and stuck his head into the fireplace. He felt the emerald flames lick at his ears, pleasantly warm, and then he was looking into the empty kitchen at the Burrow. For once Mum was not in there cooking something, but everything looked tidy and gleaming, as though it had recently been cleaned. Feverish cleaning was another pastime his mother had taken up recently. Ron had found her scrubbing every surface in the bathroom with a small army of enchanted toothbrushes the other day.

"Oi, Gin," Ron called as he saw her walk into the kitchen. She came over to the fireplace and knelt down next to it, frowning. "Who's at home right now?"

"Me, George, Percy, and Mum," said Ginny. "Dad's still at work. Why?"

"Send George and Percy over to Harry's, will you?" Ron asked.

"Why? What's going on?"

Ron briefly explained Sri's visit and the information she had related. Ginny's eyes began to narrow as he finished.

"So you're leaving and you want George and Percy to watch over the house with Harry," said Ginny.

"That's what I just said," Ron said impatiently. Why was she so thick sometimes?

"And you haven't asked me to come _because_...?"

"You should stay at home," Ron replied, "with Mum."

"NO," Ginny said emphatically. Ron yanked his head out of the fireplace to avoid getting trampled as she marched into the enchanted fire and wound up in the sitting room at Arbour Glen, her hands planted firmly on her hips. Startled, Harry glanced up from sending messages out on the galleon.

"I'm done with being treated like a kid sister," Ginny snarled, and then she whirled on Harry. "Or a damsel in distress that has to be protected. I was there that night too, I fought just like you all did. I am sick and tired of being left behind while my entire family and everyone else I love put themselves into danger." Turning back to Ron, Ginny glared at him and said more quietly but with no less force, "I'm with Harry now and I'm not going anywhere and I'll fight with him tonight or any time if I have to so _deal with it_."

Ron stared at his sister with his mouth agape. He turned to look at Harry. His friend had an expression on his face that Ron suspected was very much like the one he wore whenever Hermione said or did something particularly brilliant. Ron looked away quickly.

"All right, all right, keep your knickers on," Ron muttered. "Get George and Percy though, too."

Ginny shot Harry a triumphant smirk. Ron, however, got another scathing look from her as she stalked back towards the fireplace. "And don't patronize Mum, either," Ginny snapped. "She killed Bellatrix Lestrange, last time I checked. I'm bringing her too."

With that, she disappeared back into the enchanted flames. Ron gave a low whistle.

"Blimey, I don't envy you," he said to Harry. But Harry was grinning as he stared at the place where Ginny had been.

Ginny returned moments later with Mum, George and Percy in tow. The three of them set to work with Harry to reinforce the defensive spells that they had placed on the house. Ron, in turn, headed towards the Somervilles' farmhouse down the road. He kept reminding himself that their aim was not to stop the Death Eaters if they came for Harry, but to lure them in for re-capture. _And what then?_ Ron thought. _Back to Azkaban where they can have a go at escaping for a fourth time? _Perhaps they would get lucky and a few Death Eaters would get throttled by the enchanted vines around Harry's front porch.

Night was falling, but there was still enough light for Ron to see up the road without having to light his wand. The sun was setting behind the Somerville farmhouse as Ron came up the drive, and the edges of the house looked as though they were glowing. There was a light on in the sitting room and another one upstairs. Ron felt a wave of relief that they were at home; as long as they didn't leave the farm, the Somervilles would be kept safe by the _Fidelius_ charm.

Mrs Somerville looked worried when she opened the front door. Behind her, Ron could see Mr Somerville sitting in a battered armchair in the sitting room, watching a television. The sound of tinny laughter drifted over from it.

"Hello, Ron," said Mrs Somerville kindly. "Sorry, Hugh's not really feeling well at the moment. We took him to the fair in town this afternoon and I think he may have overdone it on the candy floss."

"Oh," said Ron. "That's um, too bad. So you're uh – in for the night, then?"

Mrs Somerville looked at him a bit oddly. "Well yes, I think so. We're certainly not going anywhere if Hugh is ill."

"Right, it's just I heard there's supposed to be a bad storm tonight," Ron lied.

"Oh," said Mrs Somerville, turning towards her husband. "Ed, did you leave any of the farm equipment out?" He shook his head as he chuckled over some bloke who was spastically running back and forth in a tweed suit. Ron had never understood the appeal of television.

"Do you want to pop up and say hello to Hugh?" Mrs Somerville asked. "Might make him feel better."

"Um, sure, just quickly," said Ron, wanting to get back to Harry's as soon as he could. He kicked off his shoes and followed Mrs Somerville up a creaky staircase. At the end of the corridor at the top of the stairs, she knocked softly on a white bedroom door.

"Hugh? Ron's here to see how you're feeling," she said. Mrs Somerville opened the door and smiling, ushered Ron inside.

Hugh's bedroom had quite clearly been a guest room up until some time ago. The furniture in the room was old-fashioned and the walls were painted a faint rosy colour. There were doilies on the nightstand and paintings of mountain scenery and lakeside cottages on the walls. The few signs of Hugh's presence seemed out of place – a couple of overturned toy cars on the floor, a little red trunk in the corner with toys spilling out of it, and a few stubby, unsharpened coloured pencils poking out from underneath the bed. The bed itself was not a child's bed; the covers were white and lacy, and the little figure lying in it was swallowed up by the duvet. A pale-looking Hugh turned over on his side to stare at Ron.

"All right, mate?" Ron asked.

Hugh groaned. "My tummy hurts."

"Well, that's what you get for eating too much what's-it-called."

"My tummy _hurts_..." Hugh moaned again. He flipped onto his stomach and shoved his face into his pillow.

"Well, you'd best rest up and get better soon," said Ron seriously. "I can't fight evil wizards in the forest on my own."

Hugh turned over on his side to stare at Ron wide-eyed, as if trying to gauge whether or not he was serious. Then he apparently got distracted by some fresh stomach pain, because he suddenly groaned and dived under the duvet again. "Promise you won't try to fight them by yourself?" came the sound of his muffled voice.

Ron stared at the little figure in the big, lacy bed and felt a sudden, great swell of affection for the boy. Evil wizards were a game to Hugh, part of his imagined magical world. But Ron knew that there might be very real evil wizards in the forest tonight. He felt a lump rise in his throat.

"I promise," Ron lied.

"Good," mumbled Hugh. "You can't beat them without me anyway."

Ron smiled despite himself. "I have to get going now. Get some sleep, all right?"

Hugh grunted a muffled assent into his pillow.

Ron went out into the corridor, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him. He shuffled down the stairs and into the sitting room, where Mr Somerville was now watching some Muggle news program while Mrs Somerville worked at sewing a button back onto one of Hugh's shirts. Ron suddenly felt as though he should say something, to explain to these people that they meant something to him, but he wasn't sure what to say and time was short.

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably. Mrs Somerville looked up from her sewing and smiled kindly at him. "Is he sleeping?" she asked.

"Not yet," said Ron. "I told him he needs to get better if he wants to fight the forces of evil in the forest though, so hopefully he'll try to get some rest."

Mr Somerville chuckled and looked up from the television. "Lord knows not even a stomach ache will keep that child out of the forest." He pointed a rectangular object at the television and the screen abruptly went dark. "Thanks for stopping by, Ron. I'm sure Hugh appreciates it."

Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't mind. Really. I know it's a bit…odd, I guess, hanging around with a five-year-old, but…"

He knew it was strange, this friendship he had developed with a Muggle child, but somehow Hugh had been a great comfort to Ron these past few months. After Fred's death, Ron had felt dull and listless and lost. They were both lost, he supposed; Hugh was lost in this big, old-fashioned farmhouse with his aging grandparents, and Ron was lost in this new world of adulthood. It was Hugh who had gotten him laughing and joking properly again, Hugh who had driven him to do something about George, Hugh who had made him truly grateful for magic and the world he lived in. Hugh had been his escape from the shop and the Burrow, from his brother's death and all the others, from the Death Eaters and the problems at the Ministry, from this exciting yet terrifying thing with Hermione and the uncertainty that was his future. Ron cleared his throat and tried to put this into words.

"I, uh…I lost my brother this year and it's been really hard, you know, at home," he said quietly. "I've dropped out of school, I'm running another brother's business – it's all been a bit much. But then hanging around with Hugh…you know how he is. He's a great kid."

"I'm so sorry about your brother," Mrs Somerville said softly, putting her sewing aside. "It's been a difficult year for us, too - for Hugh especially. It was almost as if he didn't quite understand at first, about his parents. He knew they had passed, but he didn't really realize what it meant. We didn't know what to do, what to tell him, poor child."

"We were starting to worry about him," said Mr Somerville. "He wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping, and he'd practically gone feral, running around in that damned forest by himself. It's been a long time since we've had a child on this farm, and we couldn't keep up with him. But since you turned up, Ron, honestly, he's gotten much better."

Ron shrugged again, embarrassed. Mrs Somerville stood and walked over to him, then took Ron's hands into her calloused ones. "I think you were meant to find us here. You've been a blessing to us and our grandson, Ron. I'm so glad he's been a comfort to you, too."

Ron felt guilt churn his stomach. Would they still think he was a blessing if they knew what sort of danger he and Harry had brought to them? Is this how he would repay them, with Death Eaters on their doorstep? As Mrs Somerville squeezed his hands and released them, Ron was seized with a sudden conviction that if any Death Eater tried to threaten this family, he would kill them.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly. He took a deep breath and said, "Just…be careful tonight. Stay in. The uh…storm, you know."

The Somervilles assured him that they would. Satisfied that the Muggles would be protected by the Fidelius Charm, Ron bid them goodnight and set off on the road towards Harry's house. He found himself reflecting on the things that they had said, especially about him being a blessing to them. He'd never been called a blessing to anyone, except for one occasion when he was a baby, in which the twins nicked Dad's wand and set the chicken coop on fire - Mum had said it was a blessing that Ron was a fussy baby, because he had started wailing loudly in his cot, waking everyone else and alerting them to the fire. That didn't count, of course. The Somervilles thought he had _done_ something, that he had helped them somehow by just being himself. _I think you were meant to find us here__… _As he walked, Ron glanced over at the forest ravine and smiled, remembering the first time he'd met Hugh, after accidentally Apparating into the forest.

"Bollocks," Ron said out loud, stopping in his tracks. The other details of that day had just come flooding back to him – going back to the shop, spotting the hooded man in black, then being put in a full body-bind and left lying in Knockturn Alley. The hooded man had been one of the escaped Death Eaters, he was sure of it. _You and your friends will get yours when the time is right__..._If Harry was correct, tonight would be the night that they would make a move. One of the Death Eaters had come to the shop before, which meant that they might try to find him at the shop again. Ron checked his pocket watch; the shop was now closed, but tonight Allegra had been in charge of closing up on her own. She would probably still be there, tidying things up for tomorrow. Ron tried not to imagine what would happen if they found Allegra there instead of him. Harry could wait awhile; the others were with him for now. He shoved his thoughts about the Somervilles aside, for now, and Disapparated.

Ron Apparated into Diagon Alley and ended up next to Puddlerock's Wizarding Party Supplies, the new shop that had just opened up opposite Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Diagon Alley was more or less empty, all the shops having closed for the night. A teenage boy and girl were the only other people in the darkened street; they were whispering to each other and giggling under a lamppost. The boy leaned in to kiss the girl's neck, and Ron could see the flush rise in her cheeks from across the street. The girl looked nothing like Hermione, but Ron was oddly reminded of her. _She's at the Ministry_, he told himself. _She's safe_. Ron's gaze swept the street for any signs of suspicious activity, but it was empty save for the teenage couple. He took out his wand and cautiously walked over to Weasleys'. Ron fished his key out of his pocket, unlocked the front door, and stepped into the shop.

"_Lumos_," Ron whispered. The shop was dark and silent. Ron had always thought the place was a bit creepy when it was closed; the colourful displays and products took on almost eerie appearance in the darkened shop. The light from Ron's wand passed over the Reusable Hangman display and lit upon the dangling hangman in the poster, his stick legs swinging slowly back and forth. Ron shuddered involuntarily.

"Allegra?" he called uncertainly. Ron caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and spun towards it, but it was only the giant model of a hand near the Edible Nail Polish display. The hand waved its fingers occasionally, causing the nail polish on the model to change colour. The waving fingers looked weirdly distorted in the dim light.

As he moved closer to the front of the shop, Ron became aware of a sound coming from behind the counter where the cash register was. He moved forward, half-stumbling over the display for the New-And-Improved Puking Pastilles – _Now with realistic pre-vomiting symptoms! Nausea, heartburn, upset stomach!_ Nerves jangling, Ron reflected that he didn't need a New-And-Improved Puking Pastille to feel nauseous. As he got closer to the noise, he realized that it sounded like someone crying softly.

"Allegra?" Ron tried again, wincing when his voice cracked. The crying abruptly stopped and he heard the sounds of someone scrambling to their feet.

"_Petrificus totalus_!" Ron cried out, pointing his wand at the figure that rose up from behind the cash counter. He caught a glimpse of long, blonde hair before the person fell to the floor with a sickening crash.

Ron let loose a stream of curses as he ran behind the counter and found Allegra lying stiffly on the floor. Her eyes were still red from crying and looked terrified. "_Finite_," Ron said hastily. She sat up gasping and clutching her hands to her chest.

"Are you all right?" said Ron. "I'm so bloody sorry, I thought – hang on, let me get the lights – _Lumos totalus_."

The shop flooded with light and Allegra gave a small shriek, pressing her hands more tightly against her chest. She started crying hysterically again, taking deep, gulping breaths between sobs. Ron hesitated for a moment, then knelt down beside her and patted her back comfortingly. Ginny had never really been weepy, even as a little kid, but Hermione had her moments and Mum had done her fair share of crying over the past few months. Ron was therefore not as uncomfortable as he once had been with crying. He thought of how he might comfort an over-wrought, sobbing Hermione and said, "There, there," while patting Allegra on the back.

"What happened?" Ron asked when it appeared she was in the right state of mind to answer questions. "Did they come here? Did they hurt you?"

Allegra looked at him blankly. "W-who?" she managed between hiccups.

"No one's been in here?" Allegra shook her head, keeping her hands flat against her chest. Ron sighed in relief. "Well then what is it? What's wrong?"

Allegra burst into tears again. She shook her head, lips pressed together tightly. Still sobbing, she slowly removed her hands from her chest and showed them to him, palms up. They were bright red.

Ron looked at her palms in confusion. "George's spell? _Flagrante delicto_? Well hell, at least you got it to work, I couldn't manage it."

Allegra stared up at him, wide-eyed. "Th-that's it? Mr Weasley put a-a spell on the products?"

"Yeah, didn't he tell you about it? To catch the joke shop prankster."

Allegra began sobbing once again and covered her face with her red hands. "I'm so s-sorry!" she wailed. "I n-never meant to r-ruin things!"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"_I've_ been doing it!" she cried. "I've been putting s-spells on the merchandise!"

Ron stared at her. "Why on earth would you jinx the merchandise?" he asked slowly.

"I didn't mean to! I just...just...I was best in my class at Charms, I've always been the b-best, and when I started here things weren't going so well, so I t-tried making up some spells to get our sales up."

Ron thought of the rapidly-reproducing Pygmy Puffs – _We can't breed them fast enough_ – and the products strolling off their shelves - _Ever heard the phrase 'the merchandise is just walking off the shelves?'_

"Monsieur Pelletier, he's my Charms professor, he always encourages us to…to try our own spells, and I made a few good household ones up at home and Mum said they were brilliant, so I thought…" Allegra took a deep, shaky breath. "Things were really bad here when you first brought me on, Verity was under so much stress…I just wanted to…t-to…"

She looked dangerously close to tears again, so Ron supplied, "You were just trying to help?" He Conjured a tissue and offered it to her.

Allegra nodded and accepted the tissue, blowing her nose loudly. "It was working at first," she said in a stuffed up-sounding voice. "All the things I had charmed were selling really well, and we had enough Pygmy Puffs, and I even tried to make some improvements to the edible nail polish…but then all the charms started to go wrong and I couldn't figure out why…I kept trying to fix it but it just made it worse."

"Why didn't you say something to one of us?" Ron asked incredulously. She looked as if she might cry again, so he quickly added in a kinder tone, "We could have helped."

"I didn't want you to know how badly I'd mucked things up," Allegra said miserably. "I thought you…you might fire me, or Verity, or both of us…"Her voice was increasing in pitch and tears were welling in her eyes again. "I was going to say something when things got out of hand, I really was, but then Mr Weasley came back and I thought...I thought he could fix it...I didn't want to get fired, I didn't want to get Verity fired, and she's so upset about...about...like you said I was just trying to…to…help..."

She dissolved into tears and buried her face in Ron's shoulder. Ron patted her back again, shaking his head in disbelief. Allegra was the joke shop prankster. Fifteen-year-old Allegra with her teenage self-confidence in her own abilities – her misguided attempts to help had been the cause of much of his stress and anxiety this summer. He didn't know whether to be angry with her, feel sorry for her, or just plain feel relieved that it was Allegra and not some Dark wizard who had caused all their problems. She sniffled loudly and got snot on his robes and that somehow made him decide he felt sorry for her. _She's just a kid_, he thought, before realizing that she was only three years younger than he was.

A sudden flash outside the shop window caught Ron's eye, and then something misty and silver glided through the window and into the shop. As it came closer, Ron could see that it was a Patronus, and as it swam gracefully up to him and Allegra, he recognized it. He felt his heart turn to ice.

"_I was being followed_," the silver otter said in Hermione's voice, "_by one of _them. _Don't worry._ _I'm okay. Taking my parents and grandma to the Burrow_. _Meet you at Arbour Glen_. _Be careful._"

The otter disappeared, leaving silvery-white wisps in its wake.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Thanks for being so patient with this update! I was away for a few weeks, which was wonderful. Also, I've been extremely fortunate in that I've gleaned an absolutely fantastic, thorough beta reader, **Michael Ho**, who went through the chapter and made some much-needed changes and suggestions.

I had a few suggestions to slow down and take my time in finishing this fic, which I've taken to heart. You're absolutely right; there's no point in rushing this just to get it done. I'm therefore going to take my time between the next few updates and with the help of my beta, hopefully finish this fic in the manner it deserves.

Please continue reading and reviewing! It's so important to me to know there are still people following this story and to read your thoughts and criticisms.


	16. Chapter 15: Hermione's Patronus

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 15: Hermione's Patronus**

Hermione sat cross-legged on the cold floor of the Archives in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, surrounded by neat piles of file folders. She was frowning as she surveyed them, and as she glanced from pile to pile her frown deepened.

She had returned to the Archives every day since Mr Weasley had first introduced her to Mathilda Van der Kerk and the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. Hermione had eagerly returned early the next day, fueled by a burning need to find any scrap of information about her great-grandfather and her wizarding roots. In the process, she found herself helping the energetic and determined Mathilda sort through the mess that had been left in the Archives. Ron seemed wary about the whole thing – he had hinted that she was being taken advantage of more than a few times and was quick to point out that she was not being paid for any of this. But Hermione's work in the Archives was filling the hole where school preparations and revision should have been, so she didn't mind the work in the least, paid or unpaid. In fact, she began to get absorbed by the documents themselves – pages detailing legal battles between centaurs and the Ministry, lengthy pieces of parchment containing the pedigrees of several old goblin families, records of house-elves dating back hundreds of years…it all fascinated her. Of course, Hermione remained on the lookout in the Archives for anything that could give her any clues at all about her great-grandfather, but so far she had found nothing. On her third day she had stumbled upon a stack of yellowing personnel files from the beginning of the century, but strangely, she had found no mention of a Caleb Mullican whatsoever.

At first, Hermione and Mathilda had worked together in the cavernous room, organizing old records and breaking nasty enchantments on various office supplies in a strangely companionable silence. But after a few days Mathilda began spending less time in the Archives with Hermione and more time running about trying to keep the department from falling to pieces. There was an acting Head at the moment - a mousy-looking wizard named Reggie Salt – but he seemed to spend quite a lot of time staring hopelessly at the growing pile of documents on his desk. Mathilda was constantly in his office, prodding him to sign this and attend to that while still managing to help Hermione dig up the Minutes from the last Centaur Liaison meeting or find a missing report from the Ghoul Task Force. Hermione could see why Mr Weasley had said that the department would be lost without her.

As she pored over her piles of file folders, Hermione heard the sound of the heavy Archives door scraping open followed by the brisk clicking sound of Mathilda's high heels. Mathilda wore heels everywhere but the Archives, where she had several pairs of white trainers stashed away in dusty corners.

"I think there are files missing here," said Hermione, looking up as Mathilda walked over. She pointed to the piles surrounding her. "Each of these files is for a different house-elf and the family that they belong to. There are several wizarding families who are on the House-Elf Registry, but I can't find their files anywhere."

Mathilda nodded. "They were using some of the elves as spies. Macnair probably got rid of those files."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "_Spies_? But...the house-elves would never disobey their masters or put them in any kind of danger! It's one of their deepest-rooted laws!"

"We've rounded up several house-elves since the war who had clearly been put under the Imperius curse," said Mathilda grimly.

Hermione could taste bile rising in her throat. "But – but – that's sickening!" she cried. "The house-elves will never forgive themselves for betraying their masters!"

"They're being rehabilitated by House-Elf Support Services," Mathilda said shortly. "We try to take good care of them here, you know."

"I – I never said..." Hermione spluttered, feeling her cheeks grows hot, "I just – they're very misunderstood, house-elves, and not many people appreciate - "

"We have good people helping them," Mathilda interrupted. Hermione dropped the subject, silently fuming over the disgusting tactics of the Death Eaters. Exploiting the house-elves in order to bring down the very masters that they lived to serve...it was the cruellest thing they could possibly do to them.

Mathilda cleared her throat. Hermione noticed that she was holding a thick file folder not unlike the ones surrounding Hermione, but the one in Mathilda's hand was beaten up and looked yellow with age.

"I've been promoted," Mathilda announced.

"Oh," said Hermione, taken aback by the abruptness of this announcement. "Wow…um, congratulations!"

"Head of the Being Division," Mathilda continued. She was not boasting, nor did she seem excited, but Hermione caught a faint sense of pride in Mathilda's tone as she said this.

"Wow, that's really great, Mathilda," said Hermione sincerely, "you really deserve it – "

"Here." Mathilda suddenly shoved the folder she had been carrying into Hermione's hands. Hermione's heart leapt as she read the name on the folder – _Mullican, Caleb._

"It's your great-grandfather's personnel file," Mathilda said. "I found it the first day you were here."

It took a moment for Hermione to fully process this. She looked up at Mathilda, confused. "But...why didn't you...?"

"I'm not stupid, Granger." Mathilda was looking not at Hermione, but at a place slightly to the left of her. "I knew who you were and what you were capable of. Look around - you've worked miracles in here in only a couple of weeks, as I knew you would. I didn't want you to bugger off as soon as you'd found what you were looking for."

Hermione stared at Mathilda as this sunk in. She was not sure whether to feel angry or exploited or flattered. The sole reason Hermione had come to the Archives and had continued to sort through missing documents and beat off enchanted folders was to solve the mystery of her great-grandfather – would she have stayed if Mathilda had given it to her on the first day? Probably not, Hermione reflected, but it certainly did not make it right for Mathilda to have withheld the information from her while she fervently worked at re-organizing the Archives, hoping to stumble across it. She grudgingly reflected that Ron had been right, after all. Hermione's fingers curled tightly around the folder in her hands. It took all her willpower not to tear it open and dive into it.

"I'm going to need an assistant," Mathilda continued in a business-like tone. "I'd like to offer you the position."

She coughed and looked at Hermione expectantly. Hermione stared back, mouth slightly agape. Any feelings of anger or resentment towards Mathilda had suddenly evaporated. Hermione had become accustomed to being thrown off guard by Mathilda's business-like demeanour and brisk changes of subject, but this conversation was downright bewildering. "Me?" she said in disbelief.

"No, the filing cabinet behind you," said Mathilda icily.

"But...but I'm going back to school in November...I need to get my N.E.W.T.'s..."

"I don't need some stupid pieces of paper to tell me that you're intelligent," Mathilda said shortly. "Granger, I'll be overseeing every office in this department related to magical beings – goblins, werewolves, centaurs, _house-elves_..." She arched an eyebrow behind her square-rimmed glasses.

Hermione's head was spinning. Last week she had been worried about starting Hogwarts in November with or without the boys. Now she was being offered a job at the Ministry of Magic. All she had wanted was to know her great-grandfather, to understand her magical roots. She stared at the yellowing file folder in her hands and then shifted her gaze towards the piles of house-elf file folders scattered on the ground around her, as if the different folders would give her some kind of an answer.

"Think about it," Mathilda said. She hesitated for a moment, and then added in a slightly softer tone, "Your future is here, Granger. I feel it."

Mathilda smoothed her robes, spun on her heel, and marched towards the door. She closed it with a bang, the sound echoing throughout the Archives. Hermione stared after her. She looked back down at the personnel file she was clutching in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she opened the folder as gently as she could and then hungrily skimmed the first, yellowing page. _Name: Caleb Russell Mullican._ _Employee number: 18203_. _Date of hire: 24 October, 1921_…

Then, suddenly, something was heating up in her pocket, burning against her leg. The Galleon.

Temporarily forgetting about the file or the job offer or any of it, Hermione dropped the folder and frantically dug into her pocket. She fished out the scorching Galleon and threw it on the floor in front of her. The serial numbers were changing; someone was sending a message. She took out her wand and prodded the Galleon with it, whispering, "_Reddo_."

A shimmering, golden copy of the serial numbers floated up from the Galleon and hung in the air above it. The numbers broke apart and shifted and danced until the lines and curves that had formed the numbers were re-arranged into a message in words: _Aurors think it will be tonight_. _Stay where you are. Help is here. Harry._

Hermione felt her stomach plummet. "Stay where you are?" she cried aloud in the empty Archives, her voice bouncing and echoing off the high walls. She scrambled to her feet and nearly forgot her great-grandfather's file, scooping it up at the last minute before rushing out of the Archives. Hermione nearly knocked down Maisie and a man she knew was called Hubert as she bolted past reception. She heard Maisie shouting peevishly after her as she sped down the corridor towards the lifts.

Hermione emerged in the Atrium to find things much more hectic than usual. On a normal day the Atrium was a crowded and bustling place, but that evening things were downright chaotic. As she emerged from the lift, Hermione was jostled by a group of wizards running at full speed down the corridor. She jumped back and narrowly avoided a full-on collision with the wizard at the tail end of the group, who was jogging backwards and shouting orders to an enchanted piece of parchment and quill that were bobbing in midair after him. There were similar pockets of commotion throughout the Atrium, especially concentrated near the fireplaces.

"What's happening?" Hermione asked a witch in emerald robes as she rushed past.

"Another breakout at Azkaban," the woman said breathlessly. "Just happened. Two more."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Her hand went to her pocket, where the Galleon was still warm. She clenched her fist around it, feeling the warm metal cut into her palm. Somehow, she shoved her way through the crowd to an empty fireplace and grabbed a fistful of Floo powder. At the moment, Harry's home was connected to the Floo Network via only a few secure locations – The Burrow, The Ministry, Hermione's house – but she wasn't thinking of Arbour Glen. Hermione hesitated, feeling the emerald powder begin to sift through her fingers and pool on the floor. The witch behind her was shouting for her to hurry up. Hermione made a decision; her instincts were telling her to go to her family. Hermione chucked the powder into the fireplace and said in a voice that was higher-pitched than usual, "24 Baywood Court!"

She came stumbling out of the fireplace in her parent's sitting room. Her father, who had been reading the newspaper in his armchair, swore and leaped to his feet. Hermione pushed her hair out of her face; it was dishevelled and speckled with Floo powder. "It's okay, Dad, it's me."

"Christ, isn't there a warning system for that thing?" her dad said weakly. "One doesn't really get used to his daughter popping out of the bloody fireplace."

"Is everything all right?" Hermione demanded. "Where's Mum? Grandma Jean?"

"Mum's in the kitchen and Grandma went for a walk. What - Hermione!"

She strode purposefully into the kitchen with Dad close on her heels. Her mother looked up from washing dishes in the sink. Mum's eyebrows furrowed together as she surveyed Hermione's appearance. She sighed. "Hermione, did you come through the fireplace again? That powder gets everywhere - "

"I've told you a lot of things and now I have to tell you something else and I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Hermione said all in a rush. Her mother fell silent and dropped the dish she was washing back into the sink. She felt Dad stiffen beside her.

"There's been a breakout at the wizard prison. Azkaban," Hermione blurted out. "There's been a lot of breakouts, actually. They're the people who supported Voldemort when he was in power, and they still want Harry dead."

Neither of her parents said anything, but Dad moved closer to Mum as the blood drained from her face. Her mother was oblivious to the soapy water slowly dripping from her hands onto the kitchen floor. Hermione courageously ploughed on.

"They know who I am and what I've done. One of them was following Ron," she explained. "They might know where we live. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I put protective spells on the house, so we weren't in danger, but...Harry thinks something is going to happen tonight, so I want to take you somewhere safe just in case," Hermione finished. She looked at her parents expectantly. They had started to become understanding, interested in her world, even after all she'd done to them and all they'd been through – but surely this was it, this was the last straw, they would want nothing to do with her or magic or any of her friends...

Mum was the first to rouse herself. She cleared her throat and wiped her wet, soapy hands on her trousers. "All right," she said in a small, shaky voice. "Where will we go?"

Hermione felt a wave of relief wash over her. "The Burrow," she replied without hesitation. "Ron's house. It's safe there, and there'll be wizards to protect you. Where's Grandma?"

"She went for a walk," Dad said, still a bit dazed. He gestured out the window. "Just round the block, she said she wouldn't go far..."

Hermione dashed out of the kitchen, realized she was still wearing robes, and tore them off before running out the front door in her t-shirt and jeans. It had gotten dark out, and an autumn chill was in the air; Hermione felt goose bumps rising on her arms. She came to a stop at the edge of their drive and spotted a figure turning the corner at the end of the street - a small figure in a black wool coat and heavy black shawl. Hermione bolted down the pavement until she had caught up with Grandma Jean. Her grandmother jumped as Hermione slowed down beside her, breathless and with hair even more dishevelled than before.

"Hermione," Grandma Jean said in surprise. She resumed her slow stroll, looking Hermione critically up and down. "You shouldn't _run_, it's not ladylike. And you've got that Floo powder in your hair and all over your shirt."

"Are you all right?" Hermione gasped out, falling into step next to her.

"I'm fine," Grandma Jean said curiously. "What's wrong?"

_Maybe I'm over-reacting_, Hermione thought suddenly. _This isn't the first escape from Azkaban, and they're after Harry, not me._

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly. "Well, not nothing. There's been a breakout from the wizard prison, and things are sort of dangerous at the moment so I think..."

She heard the sound of feet pounding pavement behind her and abruptly broke off. Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see a hooded jogger coming up behind them. She fell silent. She and Grandma Jean moved to one side of the pavement, waiting for him to pass, but he never did. Hermione heard the jogger's footsteps slow. She wrinkled her forehead and glanced over her shoulder again. He was still behind them, moving at a snail's pace and fumbling with something in his pocket as he slowly jogged along. It suddenly dawned on Hermione that she had seen this particular jogger out here before. Her heart started pounding suddenly. At night, in the daytime, always jogging past this particular place when she happened to be outside...

He pulled something out of his pocket, and Hermione's instincts seemed to reach the conclusion before her brain did. She whipped out her wand and shouted, "_Protego Duo!_" a split second before the jogger pointed his wand at them and yelled out, "_Redimio!_" in a voice like sandpaper. A massive blue bubble burst from Hermione's wand and covered her and Grandma Jean. The red jet of light from the jogger's wand bounced off her Shield Charm. The jogger darted to the side to avoid his spell ricocheting back towards him and shouted, "_Effrego Maxima!_"

Hermione's shield seemed to shatter into a million pieces as his spell hit it. Terrified, Hermione pointed her wand at the jogger and cried, "_Stupefy!_" then in the same motion swept her wand towards her grandmother, who was standing there frozen with her mouth agape. "_Servo absentis!_"

Grandma Jean let out a cry as she was swept into the air, sailing down the street until she landed gently on her feet a few yards away. Hermione turned back to the jogger and continued the furious duel. She felt for a moment that someone else was controlling her, making her move and duck and pivot and shout. She'd done her fair share of fighting last year, but not with her grandmother steps away, not with her parents down the street, not without Harry and Ron close by...

Then one of his spells missed and hit the pavement behind her with such force that it knocked her off balance. She stumbled forwards and thought it was over, but somehow she managed to blurt out "_Stupefy_!" as she tumbled to the ground. By some miracle, the spell hit him. It wasn't a particularly powerful spell, but the force of it shoved the jogger backwards into the lamppost behind him. He hit it with a sickening thud and crumpled to the pavement.

Hermione took a slow, ragged breath. She had fallen to the pavement herself and lay frozen to the spot for a moment, heart racing, a rushing noise in her ears. Finally, she stiffly got to her feet and moved forward to peer at the man's face. His hood had fallen back; the man was unconscious, his jaw slack and his mouth open. The left side of his face had become scarred and mangled since Hermione had seen it last, but she recognized him all the same. _Jugson_, she thought dully. Grandma Jean was somehow beside her again, clutching her arm. She was saying her name but it sounded muffled because of the rushing sound in her ears.

"_Hermione_," Grandma Jean said loudly, and this time it was clear. Grandma Jean looked shaken, but her grip was firm. "Are you hurt, child?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Hermione said shakily. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes tightly, trying to force what had just happened out of her head, trying to remember something good. She remembered dancing with Ron at Bill's wedding, the heat of being so close to him, that thing he had murmured in her ear – she could never remember what he had said, after, but she knew it had been important – and said in the bravest voice she could muster, "_Expecto patronum_."

The silver otter burst forth from her wand and floated in front of her, waiting, knowing its purpose. Grandma Jean's eyes widened. "Go to Ron and Harry," Hermione whispered. Then, louder, "I was being followed by one of _them_. Don't worry. I'm okay. Taking my parents and grandma to the Burrow. Meet you at Arbour Glen. Be careful."

The otter's mouth moved with hers, parroting her words. Then it swam away at top speed, a silver flash cutting through the night. Within seconds it was gone, but it left a shimmering silver trail in its wake.

Grandma Jean was silent. She seemed to sense that now was not the time to ask questions. Hermione paced back and forth, her mind racing. Jugson had been here before, she had seen a jogger out here many times – he had been following her, like the other Death Eater had followed Ron. So why attack now? Had he been after Grandma Jean? _A hostage_, a voice whispered inside her head. She pushed it away. They could debate Jugson's motives later. For now, she had to figure out what do to with him; she couldn't leave very well leave him in the middle of Baywood Court. It suddenly dawned upon Hermione what she had done and where. A neighbour peering out a window, someone walking their dog down the road – anyone could have seen what had just happened. A lot of shouting and flashes of light and old ladies sailing across the street…that was bound to draw attention. Hermione pushed that aside, too. She would have to deal with it when this was over. For now, there was a Death Eater lying in the middle of her street and presumably more on the way to Harry's place. She briefly considered waking Jugson and questioning him, but decided against it. They didn't have time, and besides, she didn't have the stomach for interrogation. Especially after Malfoy Manor.

"Right," said Hermione in her best business-like, matter-of-fact voice. "I think we'll have to take him with us. But first…_Confundus_."

The unconscious man twitched slightly on the ground. Grandma Jean nodded approval. "Good. That's the one to muddle them up, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm going to wake him up now. He'll be confused, obviously, so just play along. _Ennervate_."

Jugson's eyes flew open. He sat up slowly, wincing and rubbing the back of his head.

"Are you all right? You tripped and fell," said Hermione. She sounded unconvincing, even to herself. Playacting was not her strong suit.

Jugson struggled to his feet, looking puzzled. He surveyed Hermione and her Grandmother, rubbing his head absently.

"I think it's best if you come with us, don't you?" said Hermione.

Jugson nodded assent and then placidly followed as Hermione and Grandma Jean walked back towards the house in silence. Her parents were waiting for her at the door; Mum muffled a scream when she saw Jugson's mangled face. Hermione pushed past them into the front hall, Jugson calmly trailing along behind her. Mum, Dad, and Grandma Jean hurried into the house and shut the door behind them, staring at Hermione and the Death Eater.

"Hermione, who - " her mother began shrilly.

"This is one of them," Hermione said flatly. "He just attacked us."

Mum clapped a hand over her mouth and Dad looked alarmed. Hermione watched all the good done, all the patches and mending in her relationship with her parents dissolve away.

"Well get him out of here! Why is he standing in our _front hall_?" Mum hissed, panicked.

"Hermione isn't stupid, Helen, she's obviously magicked him so he's harmless," Grandma Jean snapped. "She was brilliant, by the way," she added. Hermione managed a small smile and somewhere in her roiling wave of emotions felt proud.

"We've got to take him with us," Hermione explained to her parents, "we can't leave him out there. Mr Weasley will know what to do with him." She stood still for a moment, thinking, tapping her wand on her thigh. "Right, we'll go by Side-Along Apparition. I think I can do all of you."

"You _think_?" Dad said warily.

"I can do it," said Hermione quickly. "Hold my hand."

She extended her hand. Grandma Jean clasped it immediately and Jugson followed suit dreamily. Hermione stared at her parents, who were unmoving.

"Mum, Dad, please," Hermione begged. "Trust me."

Dad stepped forward first, putting his hand atop Jugson's and squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation. Finally Mum did the same, her hand shaking as it settled atop of Dad's. Mum did not close her eyes, and it was Mum that Hermione looked at.

"Here we go," she said. "One…two…"

They were whirling through emptiness and then a soft _pop!_ and they were in the kitchen at the Burrow. Hermione quickly surveyed the group and was relieved to find no one splinched, although she did not share that particular thought with anyone. Mum and Dad clasped each other, Jugson looked around indifferently, and Grandma Jean stared around at a house the like of which she had never seen before.

There were footsteps and Mr Weasley burst into the kitchen, wand raised. Hermione raised her own.

"The first time you came to the Burrow, what did I ask for your help with?" Mr Weasley demanded.

"A typewriter," Hermione answered promptly.

"Finicky things," Mr Weasley grumbled, moving his wand from Hermione to Jugson. "And what, may I ask, are _you_ doing here?" he demanded of the Death Eater.

Jugson blinked at him, nonplussed.

"He's Confunded," Hermione said. "I'll explain later. Where is everyone?"

"At Arbour Glen, I assume. I just got in – was about to join them," Mr Weasley replied, lowering his wand. He smiled apologetically at her parents and Grandma Jean. "How do you do, Arthur Weasley, we've met once or twice before…?"

Mum was staring at Jugson and didn't seem to hear him, but Dad managed a wan smile. Grandma Jean strode forward and shook Mr Weasley's hand firmly.

"When we're not in certain danger, I'd like to hear about that clock you have over there," said Grandma Jean, nodding at the Weasleys' family clock.

They all sat down at the table, except Jugson, who set to wandering the kitchen aimlessly. Mr Weasley did his best to get the kettle boiling to make tea for everyone, but he was obviously perturbed because the teacups he set to fly over to the table kept colliding into each other like bumper cars. Grandma Jean watched all of this with great interest. Hermione's mother sat staring at the tablecloth, while her father's eyes followed Jugson around the room. Hermione explained what had happened with Jugson to Mr Weasley and her parents, then told them about the message she had received from Harry.

"I'd heard about the breakouts, but they're not the first, nor the last, I fear," Mr Weasley said grimly. "Still, Harry must have good reason to believe they'll come for him now…I heard a rumour they were releasing Antonin Dolohov..."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Mr Weasley, I need to go to Arbour Glen. Harry and Ron and everyone might need me. I know everyone else is there, but could you stay here with my family, protect them, in case…?"

"No," said Mum suddenly, looking up at her.

"Helen…" Dad began.

"NO," Mum said more forcefully. She stood up abruptly. "Hermione, I forbid you to go."

"Mum, please, you don't understand - "

"I understand perfectly," Mum said in a trembling voice. "You are going to fight against these people if they come for your friend and risk your life again and I _will not_ allow it this time. And don't you dare try to memory charm me or what have you!"

Hermione felt a sudden wave of anger roll through her. All of this time, all of the work she had put into mending her relationship with her parents, everything she had finally confessed and discussed with them, wasted – because in her heart, Mum still had not truly forgiven Hermione for the Memory Charm she had cast on them.

Hermione sat up straighter, her face growing hot. "Oh do _not_ start this again. I do not 'memory charm' people in order to just…to do what I like. You make it sound as though I did what I did because you and Dad wouldn't let me go _shopping_ or something stupid!"

"So messing with people's minds so you can go off to fight criminals is all right, then?" Mum said shrilly, her eyes darting over to Jugson.

"Helen," Dad said softly, reaching for her. Mum pushed his hand away.

Hermione was dimly aware and embarrassed by Mr. Weasley's presence in the room, but that didn't stop her from leaping out of her chair as well, fists clenched by her side. She felt tears stinging her eyes. "You _still_ don't understand! I did what I did to protect you and Dad! I'm going tonight to help protect my friend! These people are coming for Harry tonight, what would you have me do, just sit by and let it happen?"

"You are my daughter and you are only eighteen years old and you've already had to fight that…that…" her mother glanced over at Jugson, who was peering into a potted plant by the back door, and burst into tears.

"_Harry_ was someone's son!" Hermione shouted. She was crying now too, there was no helping it. "_He's_ eighteen years old too! Mum, they are going to _kill him_!"

The words seemed to hang in the air, ugly, awful. Dad was pale and silent, while Mum continued crying softly. Mr Weasely's eyes were fixed on Jugson, and Grandma Jean was staring very steadily at Hermione. Hermione's eyes met her grandmother's and she suddenly felt exceptionally foolish. She took a shaky breath and sat back down, furiously brushing the wetness off her cheeks. No one said anything for an agonizingly long time, and then Mr Weasley shifted in his chair and pointed his wand at Jugson, who was blinking heavily and gazing around the kitchen with more focus than before. "_Confundus_," Mr Weasley said quietly, flicking his wand in Jugson's direction. Jugson's shoulders slumped and his eyes glazed over once more. The Death Eater quickly became absorbed with staring at his distorted reflection in one of the copper pots hanging from the wall, a dreamy half-smile on his face.

It was Mum who finally broke the silence. "Is he – will he hurt anyone?" she asked Mr Weasley, voice trembling.

He shook his head. "I've confused him again. He's harmless for now."

Mum stared at Jugson for a moment, then shook her head as if in disbelief and turned back to Hermione. "I understand now, Hermione, I do," she said shakily, wiping tears away. "I understand what you've done and how grown up you've become. Whatever you did to that man, you protected yourself and us and I'm grateful, I am. I understand...and I _do_ understand…why you – why you did those things you did to _us, _as well. I understand that you're not helpless and that you're very good at magic - you're brilliant at magic, just like you are at everything. I understand that you want to go help your friends. But it doesn't mean that I accept it. I can't accept my daughter putting herself in danger, risking her life – you just said they want Harry _dead_, I just _cannot_…"

"Helen," Grandma Jean said gently. "I'm afraid it's not for you to decide."

There was a brief moment of quiet, and then of all people, Mr Weasley spoke up. "It's not easy, watching your children grow up and out of your protection," he said slowly. "My boys…my twins…they never listened to a word we said. There wasn't a rule we set out that they didn't try to break. They seemed determined to either blow themselves or the house up before their tenth birthdays." He gave a raspy chuckle. "You can only set rules for so long, though. Eventually…as much as you want to keep setting rules and giving them do's and don'ts, they're adults and they have to make their own decisions. And sometimes…with those decisions…they put themselves in danger," he said in a strained voice. "My son Fred…I have regretted allowing him to fight every minute of every day these past few months. But really…" he trailed off and stared at the clock, Fred's hand forever stuck at _Lost_. "But really it wasn't my place to allow. It was his decision, always his."

Mum stared at Mr Weasley for what seemed like a long time and then sat down slowly, wearily. She rested her chin on her hand and returned to staring dully at the tablecloth.

Hermione's mouth felt dry. "I'll be careful, Mum," she whispered. "It could be nothing…it could be they've already been captured, or they've given it up…it might not even be tonight, I've no idea what makes Harry think…but I've got to go."

Her mother did not answer, but her father, pale and acquiescent, nodded. Hermione stood there awkwardly for a moment, hoping that her mother would say or do something – change her mind, offer words of encouragement – but it was Grandma Jean who reached for her hands and took them in her own.

"Be careful, child," Grandma Jean said. Her skin was dry and papery, but there was strength in Grandma Jean's hands as she squeezed Hermione's.

Hermione nodded and reluctantly released her grandmother's hands. She fixed her gaze on her mother before she Disapparated. At the last possible second, before Hermione's world dissolved into darkness, Mum looked up and met her eyes. Although there was fear in them, there was something else too that gave her some hope.

Then the kitchen at the Burrow was gone, and she was spinning towards Ron and Harry.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I apologize profusely for the huge amount of time between this update and the last one. I am really dedicated to finishing this story, but life is busy as you all well know. But I get inspired to sit down and write every time I get a lovely new email that says someone has added this story to their Favourite Story list or someone has left a review. Please keep reading and enjoying!

An enormous thank you to my beta, Michael Ho, whose time and effort in editing is appreciated more than he can know.


	17. Chapter 16: The Battle of Arbour Glen

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 16: The Battle of Arbour Glen**

Harry watched Ron as he paced the sitting room, walking to the fireplace then to the window and back again with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Ginny sat next to Harry on the sofa, legs crossed, one foot jiggling up and down. The room was dark; no one had made a conscious decision to keep it that way – it was just that no one had bothered saying the spell to fill the room with light when the sky outside had darkened. So the room was shrouded in darkness, save for the moonlight that streamed in through the window and the light from the fire, which sat crackling and snapping loudly in the silence.

"She said she'd meet us here," Ron said for the fifth or sixth time.

It was obvious that Ron was panicked but Harry didn't know what to say; thin coils of fear had begun to worm their way into his stomach as well. Harry looked to Ginny, whose face was bathed in moonlight, her lips dark against her pale face.

"She wouldn't have been able to send the message if she was still in danger," Ginny reasoned. "She's probably just getting her family to safety."

It had been nearly forty-five minutes since Hermione's otter Patronus had swum into the room and delivered its message to Harry, and half an hour since Ron had shown up and begun to panic that Hermione was not already at Arbour Glen. While Ron paced, Harry had been going through scenario after scenario in his mind, trying to work out what had happened and why. Why was she being followed? How long had she been followed for? How had Hermione _known_ she was being followed? Someone had been following Ron too, that afternoon that he was attacked – were there Death Eaters trailing each of them? Where was the Death Eater that had been trailing Hermione now?

Harry had said that the Death Eaters were not clever or cautious like Voldemort and he still firmly believed that. Yet they had been following his friends, perhaps even himself. For what purpose? Harry leaned back against the sofa, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to slip into the mindset of a Death Eater. Voldemort would want to know his prey, to understand them. He would learn all he could and bide his time and wait. Voldemort's Death Eaters, on the other hand, would not be interested in learning the routines and habits of Harry and his friends before planning an attack. They _wanted_ something from them. But what? They had gone after Willy Peet to find out where the house was. But why follow Ron and Hermione? If they were after one of them to use as bait, why not just attack them and be done with it?

An image suddenly came, unbidden, into Harry's mind – a row of Muggles in the air, floating above the chaos at the Quidditch World Cup. The Death Eaters acting as masked and hooded puppeteers, laughing as they contorted the airborne Muggles into grotesque shapes above them. The answer was in that memory. Voldemort's followers were cowards who preyed upon the weak. But Ron and Hermione were wizards, and good ones at that. Harry knew that both of them had low opinions of themselves when it came to defense against the Dark arts, but he had seen them both fight brilliantly in some tough spots, this year especially. No, the Death Eaters would be after the weak, and both Ron and Hermione had spent significant time over the past few months with people whom the Death Eaters would consider weak - Muggles.

Harry jumped as a sudden, loud _snap! _startled him out of his reverie. The room flooded with light; Kreacher had entered and had finally lit the room. Ron turned away from the fireplace briefly to glance at the house-elf, who bowed and then slunk over to Harry's side. After Sri's visit – which had only been a few hours ago, but it seemed as though weeks had passed since then – Harry had immediately started to take a mental inventory of all the spells, charms, and curses that he, Ron, and Hermione had worked so hard to install around Arbour Glen. But with the threat now imminent, their protective measures suddenly seemed childish. The traps would slow the Death Eaters down, make things more difficult for them – but who knew how many of them there would be, and charms and curses could always be broken. Harry had realized that they needed a way to disarm the Death Eaters somehow – and that was when an earlier notion had returned to him.

It was a risky idea to begin with, and Harry hadn't exactly had the time to test it or to think about the implications. He had tentatively run the idea past Kreacher a few hours ago, but the house-elf hadn't been very helpful; he could only swear to be obedient. Harry still didn't know how the idea would work or if it would work at all, but nevertheless, he wanted to keep Kreacher close tonight.

"Still nothing else from Hermione?" Mrs Weasley asked anxiously, coming in from the kitchen with the rest of the people who had assembled at Arbour Glen. There were Percy and George – to Harry's puzzlement, George had also brought along Verity, the witch from the joke shop. He got the impression that she had some personal vendetta to fill and that it had something to do with Fred. Regardless, she was eager to help, so Harry was glad for her presence. Luna and Neville trailed in after them, along with Hagrid, who had to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. Neville had arrived alone, but apparently Luna had been visiting Hagrid, with whom she was 'working on a project', when her Galleon went off (interestingly, both of them had been covered in blue slime when they arrived, which caused Harry to worry about exactly what kind of project Luna and Hagrid would be 'working on'). Luna had, of course, told Hagrid what was happening and he had immediately insisted upon coming along. Harry felt guilty that he hadn't included Hagrid in the original plan, but he had been wary of involving anyone from Hogwarts. He didn't exactly think that the new Headmistress would approve of him luring Death Eaters into his home.

Harry was grateful that all of them had come, but despite Ginny's rant earlier in the evening he had still felt an obligation to try to dissuade at least Mrs Weasley from staying. He had half-heartedly attempted to persuade her to return home and as expected, he had quickly been dismissed. Harry glanced at Mrs Weasley now; she looked almost feverish, her eyes glittering and her face flushed. Harry had a bad feeling that she, her sons, and even the witch from the shop were out for blood to avenge Fred, but he dared not say it out loud. He hoped that Mr Weasley would keep an eye on his wife and family – but he, too, had yet to arrive.

Suddenly the fire roared and turned emerald green. Harry felt a wave of relief as Hermione finally stumbled out of the fireplace, brushing strands of bushy hair out of her eyes. She yelped as Ron ran over and hugged her fiercely, lifting her off the ground. Hermione's cheeks were pink as Ron set her back on her feet, releasing her but keeping a hand protectively on the small of her back.

"Where've you been?" Ron demanded of Hermione once everyone had expressed their relief that she had finally arrived.

"The Burrow," Hermione explained, still rather breathless. "I've left my parents and my grandmother there with your Dad. And Jugson," she added.

"Jugson!" Harry exclaimed. Hermione hurriedly explained what had happened. The more she spoke, the more Harry felt that his earlier suspicions had been correct.

"So you say he was out there alone with your grandmother?" Harry asked uneasily.

"What? Oh, Jugson? I'm not sure, I only noticed him after I'd been speaking to her for a bit."

"What is it? What are you thinking?" Ginny asked, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Before Harry could respond, there was a loud rumble outside. Harry moved to the window and saw dark clouds coming in. They seemed to billow outwards, expanding as they moved swiftly across the night sky. Slowly the constellations outside Harry's window disappeared as the clouds moved in and obscured them.

"There'll be a storm comin'," Hagrid muttered.

_Yes, there will_, thought Harry, and that was when the Caterwauling Charm pierced through the night.

For the briefest of seconds they all froze and exchanged looks with one another. Then Harry felt a sense of calm settle over him; the uneasiness at the pit of his stomach vanished and his head felt strangely clear. Harry murmured a spell - the light fled from the room again and the fireplace went out with a swooshing sound. As if on cue, everyone silently took their wands out and started moving towards the windows facing the front yard. Harry stared out the window into the darkness.

"Can't see a bloody thing," Ginny whispered beside him.

Harry's eyes continued sweeping the grounds, but Ginny was right – it was impossible to see whatever had set the Caterwauling Charm off.

"Hermione," he said suddenly. "What's the spell, the one that reveals any other humans near you?"

"_Homenum revelio_," Hermione said immediately.

"Doesn't work on vampires," Luna added helpfully.

"Well, let's hope they haven't brought any vampires, then," Ron muttered.

"Can you do it so that anyone out there doesn't know you've used it?" Harry asked in a low voice. "I think Dumbledore used it on me once - sort of feels like something swooping down on you."

"Does it matter?" Neville asked uncertainly, wincing as the Caterwauling Charm continued. "It would be hard to have missed the shrieking and all."

"They can't hear it. Only us," Harry explained. "_Finite incantatem_," he said quickly, and silence fell over all of them.

"Jus' thought o' that now?" Hagrid muttered, removing his fingers from his ears.

"Hermione? The spell?" Harry asked urgently.

"Well, I've read about a modification to it where the target doesn't know the spell's been cast..." said Hermione hesitatingly.

"Do it," said Harry. Then he turned to the rest of them and said, "Wands ready. As soon as we can see them, Stun whatever turns up."

Everyone nodded and obediently fanned out along the windows, wands pointed and ready.

"_Homenum revelio discretus," _said Hermione quietly. Something dark swooped out of her wand and sped through the window into the night. Harry lost track of the thing and was starting to wonder if there was anyone out there at all when suddenly his eyes seemed to adjust. The outline of a figure appeared on the front lawn - seconds ago it had been only another shadow.

"STUPEFY!" shouted a chorus of voices. The figure was lit up briefly by a dozen jets of red light and then the night went dark again.

"Only one?" Ginny whispered uncertainly.

They all spilled out onto the front porch. Harry exchanged glances with Ron, who looked pale but nodded imperceptibly at him. "We'll go check," said Harry. "All of you stay here and…keep a look out for more of them."

Ron gave Hermione's hand a squeeze, then lit his wand and followed Harry onto the lawn. The night was cold; the air stung Harry's nostrils as he moved towards the figure slumped in the grass several feet away. The man wore black robes and was facedown. Something wet and shiny had spread over his right arm and was dripping onto the ground. As he passed his wandlight over it, Harry saw that the dark patches were blood. He frowned – he hadn't heard anyone use anything but the Stunning Spell. Harry nudged the man's body with his foot and turned him over onto his back, then breathed in sharply as their wands lit the man's face.

It was Brigs.

"_Ennervate_," Harry said hurriedly, dropping to the ground beside Brigs.

A moan escaped from Brigs as his eyes flickered open. He half-sat up, took a look at his bleeding right arm, then fell back to the ground, cursing. "You lot certainly pack a punch," he said hoarsely, eyes squeezed shut again.

"When we met, what was the agreement that we made?" Harry demanded, jabbing his wand into Brigs' chest.

"That I'd teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts…although I'm not really sure that's necessary now…"

"Brigs," said Harry, half-relieved and half-horrified. "I'm sorry, we thought – you set off the Caterwauling Charm – it's not supposed to go off for us or any Aurors," Harry explained.

"Not technically an Auror, am I?" said Brigs, sitting up again and grimacing. "Listen, not a lot of time – they're coming."

"They?" said Ron uneasily.

"Death Eaters. On their way."

"What happened? And what happened to your arm?" asked Harry.

"I went with the Aurors…The Foot asked me to come along, to follow Dolohov's information and bring in the rest of the Death Eaters."

"It was a trap," said Harry grimly.

"'Course it was – Death Eaters bloody surrounded us as soon as we got there. There's a lot of them – seems they've found some new recruits."

"Why did you all go, then?" Ron asked. "If you knew it was a trap?"

"Only chance they had at finally getting the rest of them, wasn't it? That's why they brought me along…dirty tricks are my specialty. Attached this amulet I'd found in Malaysia to Dolohov. Soon as they tried to attack an Auror, Dolohov would get the brunt of any spell cast on one of ours." Brigs' breathing was becoming laboured. "So everyone…would play nice."

"So what happened?"

Brigs shook his head. "They had hostages. Made me…take the amulet off of Dolohov. Then all hell broke loose."

"Hostages?" Ron asked. "Who - "

Brigs suddenly swooned; blood had continued to seep through his robe and drip onto the grass beneath them. Harry knelt down and tried to support the man while Ron hollered for help. The others ran over. Mrs Weasley knelt beside them and gasped when she saw the man's face.

"Gwilym?" she said incredulously.

"Molly," he said weakly, managing a half-smile. He glanced down at his arm. "Just a scratch, bloody Mulciber…"

"Where are the other Aurors?" Harry demanded.

"They - the Death Eaters - all split up," Brigs gritted his teeth, making a concentrated effort to deliver the rest of his message. "Some of them Disapparated, but a load of them took a hostage each and disappeared by Portkey…"

"Why would some of them take Portkeys? Why not all just Disapparate?" Neville asked, frowning.

"Because they _wanted_ to be followed," Harry replied grimly. So this was the Death Eaters' plan – lure the Aurors all to one place, then split them up and send them all on a wild goose chase. Rescuing the hostages needed to be a priority, especially if they were Muggles. But in the meantime, the Death Eaters had effectively arranged for Harry and Arbour Glen to be left defenseless…or so it appeared.

Harry stood, adrenaline beginning to pulse through him. "Mrs Weasley, get Brigs inside. They're probably already here. They'll have Apparated nearby…they need to walk in."

As Mrs Weasley helped get Brigs to his feet and into the house, Harry took a moment to look them all over, this small band of friends who had come here to protect him. Ron had gone to stand with Hermione, both of them with their wands at the ready. Ginny and Neville looked grim and determined. A pale Verity stood by George and Percy, who both wore the same strange, eager look, as if they had been waiting for this since the Battle of Hogwarts had robbed them of a brother. Luna seemed thoroughly unperturbed by the entire situation, but that wasn't unusual, and Hagrid was clutching his umbrella so tightly it looked as though it might break. And Kreacher…Kreacher was there, just as Harry had asked him to be. The house-elf's big, luminous eyes shone eerily in the dark.

"So they're not coming," said Ginny. "The rest of the Aurors."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. Listen, though – the Death Eaters are coming for _me_. It's not too late for the rest of you to - "

"Harry, please," Neville interrupted. "Spare us. What's the plan?"

"The _plan_ was to defend the house with a small army of Aurors and allow them to capture the remaining Death Eaters," Harry snapped. "If they're not coming…I can't possibly expect you all to put yourselves into danger again, after all we've - "

"WILL YOU COME OFF IT?" Ginny interrupted loudly. "You're wasting precious time being all noble. For the last time, WE ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE."

There was a brief silence as Ginny's words echoed through the darkened yard.

"I think a bit _louder_ next time, Gin, if you can," said George brightly. "Sorry Harry, every Death Eater within a hundred kilometers knows exactly where we are now."

Harry sighed. He looked to Ron, who nodded at him, and then Hermione, who gave him a small smile. Then to Kreacher…_There's still a chance_. Harry took a deep breath. "Fine. Well…we still have the element of surprise," he reminded them. "The Death Eaters aren't expecting to be expected. And we have all the spells we've set up around the house." He did a mental tally of their array of curses and traps surrounding the house - the Quivering Quicksand traps hidden beneath tufts of grass, the various plants and objects that would come to life and begin throttling the Death Eaters as soon as they came near…

"We need to hide," said Harry. "Hopefully the spells will distract them long enough for us to do some damage. And if we take them by surprise…" He nearly finished with _…we might have a chance_, but wisely kept this thought to himself. "Everyone just – be careful. Please."

The others nodded and hurried towards a hiding place –some jogged back to the house and crouched at the ready behind the pillars on the front porch; Hagrid crashed into the woods, the only place he could really hide; Kreacher disappeared, although Harry knew that he would be someplace close by; then only he, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were left.

"Gin - " Harry began.

"Don't even try telling me to go back in the house," she snapped, and then she sprinted off for cover in the bushes nearby.

"Well?" said Hermione, looking to Harry.

"I've got the Cloak," he answered.

"Superb," said Ron sarcastically. "You two and my pinky toe will be well-disguised then."

"It's dark, we'll lie flat on the ground behind those trees and cover as much as we can – they won't be able to see anything. Come on," Harry said, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak and following them to a sheltered area behind some trees. The three of them dropped to their stomachs and covered as much of themselves as they could with the Cloak. Then they waited.

Hermione broke the silence after a few seconds. "Well, I suppose we've faced worse odds," she said with weak optimism.

"Several Death Eaters against a group of Hogwarts drop-outs, some shopkeepers, and a half-giant with an umbrella," said Ron wryly. "You're right, could be worse."

Harry snorted despite himself. Hermione muffled a giggle and even Ron sniggered at himself. A selfless Harry would not want the two of them to be here with him tonight – but the selfish part of him was infinitely glad they were.

The night was eerily silent, robbed of all the normal sounds one would expect to hear on an evening in autumn. The only sounds Harry could make out were Brigs' muffled yelps coming from the house as Mrs Weasley tried something apparently painful to heal him. The faint rustling of the changing leaves on the trees. Then a crack of thunder, somewhere off in the distance.

Suddenly Harry's ears pricked up to hear a far-off sound coming from the forest – a sound almost like the thunder, but this was prolonged. It came closer and closer, and then there was the sound of something crashing through brush and male voices. The sound he had thought was thunder was actually laughter – the Death Eaters were _laughing_ as they came for them. Big, booming, hysterical laughter. It was the laughter more than anything that truly shook Harry's resolve. He tightened his grip on his wand. Human figures began to emerge from the woods and the Caterwauling Charm rent the air again.

First came two figures floating side-by-side through the air. It was impossible to see their faces; they had put some kind of grotesque masks over them. The figures seemed to be either paralyzed, unconscious or – Harry didn't want to think it – dead. Their bodies were limp except for their arms, which were outstretched stiffly in front of them. _They had hostages_, Brigs had said. The Death Eaters preyed upon the weak.

"What in the name of…?" hissed Ron's voice beside him.

"We need to get those people down," Harry whispered back urgently.

Behind the floating hostages came the Death Eaters. Harry recognized some of the faces – Yaxley, Rowle, Mulciber, Rookwood, Travers, Selwynn, Rosier, Macnair, Nott – and yes, there was Dolohov as well. But there were a half-dozen or so who were unfamiliar to him. _Fresh blood, _Harry thought grimly_._ All of them were strolling along behind the eerie, floating figures, and laughing, laughing, laughing. Every nerve in Harry's body seemed to be jangling with that laughter. He took a deep breath, and even though they were badly outnumbered, even though there were hostages floating through the air, even though there was not an Auror in sight, the strange sense of calm that had washed over him before suddenly returned.

"Potter!" called Travers in an almost sing-song voice. "Potter, come out, come out, wherever you are!"

"Don't worry, Potter!" shouted one of the Death Eaters whom Harry did not recognize. "When we kill you we'll check you ourselves this time. Or maybe we won't leave a body to check." He hooted with fresh laughter.

"Potter!" Dolohov shouted. "Potter, show yourself!"

Suddenly, Selwynn and another Death Eater slumped to the ground and began snoring loudly. Harry smiled despite himself – Hermione had set up Imperceptible Insomnia traps all over the yard. The Death Eaters' laughter suddenly died away. Harry was itching to cast a spell, but something was telling him to wait.

"Oh clever, Potter," sneered Dolohov. "You've booby-trapped the house, have you? Are you waiting in the bushes to curse each of us as we stroll by?"

A crack of lightning, then the Caterwauling Charm abruptly stopped. There was a brief silence followed by the roll of thunder. Dolohov threw back his head and laughed again.

"No more tricks, Potter. You'll come out now," he said with a sneer. "You wouldn't want anything bad to happen to these fine old Mudbloods here."

He waved his wand and the floating figures bobbed up and down once. Their heads lolled from side to side as the masks that had been obscuring their faces evaporated away in wisps of smoke. Harry felt Ron's body go rigid next to him, and although he had never met them, he knew who the hostages were.

It was the Somervilles.

Harry seemed to know what would happen next before it did. Both he and Hermione clutched desperately at Ron as he threw off the Cloak and lurched to his feet, screaming unspeakable things at the Death Eaters.

"Ron!" Harry hissed, trying to pull Ron down by his shirt. "Ron, _get down_, you're going to get someone killed."

But Ron was not paying attention; he broke free from Harry and Hermione's grasps and started scrambling away from them. Harry pitched forward and wrapped his arms around Ron's knees, tackling him to the ground. Ron struggled violently, still screaming bloody murder at the Death Eaters.

"Weasley?" Yaxley called out. "Weasley, I can hear you even if I can't see you! Excited to see your friends?"

"YOU LET THEM GO - " Ron screamed hoarsely from where Harry had pinned him to the ground. He punctuated the sentence with a few more choice curses. "YOU SICK BASTARDS, YOU LET THOSE MUGGLES GO!"

"I'll tell you what," said Dolohov lazily. "If you show yourselves, I won't Cruciatus the little one."

"No!" Hermione cried desperately as Ron threw Harry off of him.

"Hermione, now!" Harry yelled.

"_Arborum entatum_!" she shrieked.

All of the trees on Harry's property gave a great shudder and then slowly creaked to life, their heavy branches swaying and moving in huge, swooping arcs. The Death Eaters' laughter abruptly died away as a towering oak tree swung one of its branches towards the group of them. The thick branch smashed into four of the Death Eaters with a sickening crunch. The rest of them immediately leaped away from any trees. But Hermione's curse was not finished yet; the autumn leaves suddenly flew off all the trees in the yard and in the surrounding woods. They seemed to flatten and harden in midair. The yellow, orange, red and brown leaves became razor sharp as they went hurtling towards the Death Eaters. There came yelps of pain as the flurry of leaves flew at the Death Eaters, nicking and scratching at their faces, their clothes, and their limbs.

The distraction served its purpose - Neville and Luna suddenly appeared out of nowhere and managed to Stun Rosier in the confusion, while Hagrid came crashing out of the forest hollering at the top of his lungs and bowling over any Death Eater in his path. Percy and George began firing increasingly unpleasant and dangerous spells at the Death Eaters from the cover of the porch; one of them hit Rowle and he went down, clutching his head and howling. In the middle of the bedlam, the Somervilles were still floating with arms outstretched and heads lolling as they gently bobbed up and down in the air. Ron started to sprint over to them, dodging jets of light from every direction. Hermione cast a Shield Charm on him and then on herself before running after him.

Harry scrambled to his feet and found himself face-to-face with Mulciber; he hollered the first spell he could think of, something that had been buried in the deep recesses of his mind since fifth-year Charms. Whatever it was seemed to work – Mulciber started clawing at his face as his nose swelled to ten times its normal size. Harry looked around anxiously – where was Kreacher? – but chaos had erupted. Jets of brightly coloured light lit up the darkened yard, illuminating the vicious trees swiping at their enemies and a flurry of black objects whipping through the air towards the Death Eaters (for a moment Harry thought that they were bats before he remembered that Hermione had enchanted the shingles on the roof). There was suddenly a howl and then a horrible gurgling sound – Macnair had tried to sneak up on Fred and Percy on the porch and had been snagged by the enchanted vines. The thick green tendrils had wrapped themselves around Macnair's throat and were cutting off his air supply. Macnair tried to tear at the vines with clumsy fingers, but they were wrapped around his throat too tightly. He finally passed out and the vines relaxed their hold, dumping his prone figure onto the porch with what seemed almost like contempt.

For a split second the weight on Harry's chest began lifting – perhaps with all their preparations and enchantments they stood a chance, with or without the Aurors – until he heard a high-pitched scream. _Ginny_, Harry thought immediately. But there she was near the rose bushes, fiercely duelling with a young, silver-haired Death Eater whom Harry did not know. The screamer had been someone else, and it had come from within the woods…_There's more of them_, Harry realized, and he sprinted towards where he thought the scream had come from.

Harry ran through the madness. He passed Neville and Luna, who were engaged in a manic duel with Yaxley. He almost tripped over Verity, who was lying flat on her stomach amongst his impatiens, shooting spells at unsuspecting Death Eaters. He saw Hagrid get hit; there were two of them hurling spells at the half-giant. Harry slowed, whirled around, and shouted, "_Levicorpus_!" One of Hagrid's assailants – Harry thought it might be Rookwood – was abruptly hoisted into the air by his ankles. In the meantime, Hagrid simply scooped up the other one and tossed him across the lawn like a rag doll. He gave Harry a grin and then lumbered off towards Ginny and her duelling partner.

There was a yelp of surprise to Harry's right; he looked over his shoulder and found three Death Eaters caught in Hermione's Quickening Quicksand. In a panic, one of them pointed his wand at the Quicksand and screamed a spell Harry had never heard before.

Harry froze as the ground suddenly shook beneath him and a deep rumbling sound filled the night. This was no lightning; the sound was coming from below. The Quicksand suddenly hardened and spit the Death Eaters out. Two of the Death Eaters hastened away, but the Death Eater who had cast the spell was struggling to get to his feet. He seemed to have gotten tangled up in his own robe when the Quicksand spit him out. The earth continued to shake, the rumbling got even louder, and Harry got a very bad feeling that something had gone horribly wrong.

Then, quite unexpectedly, the earth literally split open under Harry's feet.

He scrambled for purchase as the rocks, dirt and grass he had been standing on a moment ago were sucked up by the chasm that had suddenly opened beneath him. The Death Eater who had cast the spell tumbled down into the chasm with a long, echoing scream. Harry, meanwhile, managed to clamber onto solid ground and started sprinting for his life.

"Run!" Harry shouted as he dashed away from where the Quicksand had been seconds ago. Someone had fallen to the ground in front of him; he grabbed a fistful of their cloak, yanked them to their feet, and pushed them into motion, heedless of whether they were friend or foe. The ground continued to fall away behind him, sucked into the widening chasm as if there were a black hole beneath his front yard. Harry frantically started shooting spells over his shoulder. "_Finite incantatem_! _Aresto momentum!_ _Immobulus_!"

"_Terra pertinax_!" came a booming voice from the front porch. The rumbling abruptly stopped and the ground stopped falling away beneath Harry's feet. He slowed down and, breathing heavily, rested his hands on his knees as he surveyed the damage. A large gorge had opened up in the middle of his front yard; little bits of dirt and debris continued tumbling down into it. Verity seemed to have had a narrow escape – Hagrid was pulling her out by the arms – but no one else seemed to have been injured by the incident save for the unfortunate fellow who had cast the spell. Harry looked up to see Brigs standing on the front porch next to Mrs Weasley with his wand still raised. He looked a bit worse for wear, but his arm had stopped bleeding. Brigs gave Harry a weary grin and a thumbs-up before leaping off the front porch and into the fray.

Another scream snapped Harry back to reality. More Death Eaters were appearing, seemingly out of thin air. They were coming from all directions – the forest in front of the house, the forest behind…It dawned on Harry that there were too many of them, that they were going to lose. Whether these new faces were true Death Eaters or wizards and witches under the Imperius curse, all of them had wands and all of them were coming for him. And that was when Harry realized someone was directly behind him.

Harry turned slowly, wand held out, and found Dolohov standing behind him with his wand also drawn. Even though he had just come to the realization that they were utterly and hopelessly outnumbered, for some bizarre reason Harry still felt calm, composed. He quickly silenced the voice in his head screaming, _He killed Remus, he killed Remus _and steadily focused on Dolohov's wand. "Guess you didn't take the Ministry's deal after all."

"That's the problem with the Ministry, isn't it?" Dolohov replied with a sneer. "Always has been. Too trusting, too soft, too unwilling to take harsh action. They actually thought I'd give up the rest of the Dark Lord's followers," he nodded to the Death Eaters around him, behind him, swapping spells with Harry's friends.

"Didn't fancy life as a Squib?" Harry said casually.

"Oh no, I _jumped_ at the opportunity – told them I'd bring them to the rest of the Death Eaters, told them I'd do _anything_, just for a chance at reprieve." Dolohov rolled his eyes. "And they believed it. Pathetic."

"What happened to the Aurors?"

Dolohov shrugged. "Dead by now, probably."

Harry recognized something in his voice that did not ring true, some undertone of uncertainty, and this bolstered his hopes. "So you're free and clear to finish me off," Harry continued lightly. "That's why you're here, isn't it? To finish off what Voldemort couldn't?"

Dolohov's eye twitched ever so slightly when Harry said the name, but he quickly regained his composure. "For the Dark Lord…"

"For yourself," Harry corrected. "For the power, for the prestige of doing what he couldn't. All of this is your doing, isn't it? You somehow managed to get messages to the rest of them...organized them after the Battle of Hogwarts, even though you were in Ministry custody."

"Like I said, that's the problem with the Ministry," Dolohov said with a sly grin. "Too soft, complacent. So easily…swayed."

A flash of green light nearby caught Harry's eye and his heart caught in his throat – where was Ginny? – but he forced himself to return to Dolohov. His instincts were telling him to keep the man talking, and then when his defenses were lowered…Harry kept an eye out for Kreacher.

"Well, obviously you couldn't just waltz in here and kill me, so you sent people to follow us, to look for a weakness," Harry continued.

"I thought that surely we'd get a nice little hostage from following the Mudblood around," Dolohov said with a sadistic grin. "But Weasley's was even better. A whole Mudlbood family…"

Harry felt his sense of calm slipping from him as he realized something. _A whole Mudblood family_…where was the little boy? Hugh?

"Tell your friends to surrender, Potter," Dolohov whispered gleefully. "Because what I'm going to do to the boy will make the Cruciatus curse look tame."

Another chilling scream pierced through the night, louder this time than before – Harry realized now that it was the scream of a child. The battle seemed to falter for a moment as everyone hesitated, listening.

"Tell them," Dolohov said with a smile.

"Put your wands down," Harry said immediately. His voice carried over the yard, which had suddenly gone silent. "They've still got the little boy."

A few yards away, Ron let out a furious roar. He and Hermione had managed to get the elder Somervilles out of the air and had been shielding and defending them throughout the chaos. The Muggles were still unconscious, lying in the grass behind Ron and Hermione.

"WHERE IS HE?" Ron hollered. "If you lay a finger on him I swear on my brother's grave, I will rip you apart limb by limb - !"

Dolohov laughed and flicked his wand towards the forest. A new figure emerged from the trees, floating along like his grandparents had been with arms outstretched. But unlike his grandparents, Hugh was awake. His eyes were wide and petrified and tears were streaming down his mud-caked, chubby face. The rest of his body seemed to be paralyzed; the boy was trapped in his own skin.

"YOU SICK SON OF A _BITCH!_" Ron screamed, starting towards Dolohov.

"RON!" Mrs Weasley shrieked in terror. Dolohov just laughed and flicked his wand again. The boy's mouth suddenly sagged, popped open, and another piercing scream was wrenched from his little body. Ron froze again.

"Oh, stop - stop, please!" Hermione cried out. She threw her wand on the ground. Harry carefully placed his wand on the ground in front of him as well. Slowly, one by one each of Harry's friends and allies dropped their wands. Ron seemed to fight some internal struggle and finally threw his wand away, swearing. Dolohov smiled and Hugh's mouth snapped shut, the scream ending abruptly.

Harry finally spotted Kreacher, standing still as a statue only a few feet behind Dolohov, his bulging eyes watching Harry closely. Kreacher, of course, did not have a wand to give up. There was Ginny, too, Harry saw with relief. She was standing next to her brothers. Her face was streaked with mud and her hair was full of leaves, but mercifully she appeared unharmed. The rest of the Death Eaters were picking themselves up – a few of them a bit worse for wear, a few of them unable to get up at all – and making their way over to where Dolohov and Harry were standing. Despite several injured and unconscious Death Eaters throughout the yard, their numbers still seemed to have tripled since the first group had arrived with the Somervilles in tow.

"How?" Ron choked out. "The Fidelius Charm…how?"

Rowle, who was covering one side of his face with a bloody hand, suddenly gave a bark of laughter. "Oh, we knew all about your Secret-Keeping," he said. "But the Fidelius Charm doesn't work if the people it's supposed to protect aren't _in_ the place that's protected."

A look of realization flashed in Ron's eyes, and he moaned. "Hugh was sick…"

"Got a lot worse once you'd left. They tried to take him to hospital," Rowle continued. "And as soon as they were out of sight of that place you'd put the Fidelius Charm on…"

Rowle twirled his wand and Hugh set to slowly spinning like a top in front of them. He smiled an evil, sick smile.

"Had to get them out of the house somehow, so guess what I slipped in little Hugh's candy floss at the fair? Right from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes…New-And-Improved Puking Pastilles -" Rowle began to mimic the tone of the announcers doing ads on the wireless, " - now with realistic pre-vomiting symptoms! Nausea, heartburn, upset stomach!"

Harry's heart sunk as Ron dove for his wand again, scooped it up, and screamed out a barely intelligible curse. The orange jet of light that burst from Ron's wand hit Rowle squarely in the chest and blew him off his feet, actually scorching the grass below him. Rowle hit the ground, out cold, several feet away. The Death Eaters' wands were suddenly all raised and pointed at someone. Harry's eyes met Kreacher's glowing ones; the house-elf nodded at him.

"Enough!" Nott suddenly barked. He flicked his wand at Hugh, whose body unfroze. The little boy's arms flailed as he fell several feet hit the ground with a sickening thud. Hugh choked out a sob and clutched at his arm, which had hit the ground hard. Hugh screamed again as Nott roughly grabbed him off the ground and pressed his wand into the little boy's cheek. Ron froze.

"Enough talking. The Dark Lord always did too much talking," Nott muttered. The other Death Eaters looked around uneasily; even without Voldemort's presence and the apparent rise of a new leader amongst them, this overt criticism of their Dark Lord did not seem to sit well. They all looked to Dolohov for his reaction.

"That's right," said Dolohov quietly. "He could never quite finish you off, could he, Potter? There was that spell the Mudblood whore you called a mother left on you, then that business with the twin wands, then whatever it was that happened in the Forbidden Forest…" He smiled slowly. "But we've got no prophecies or Horcruxes between us, boy. You're just another sack of skin and bones and blood like everyone else I've killed."

"Kreacher," Harry said quietly. There was another crack of lightning, but no flash of light. Dolohov raised his wand.

"NO!" Ginny screamed.

"_Avada kedavra_," said Dolohov triumphantly.

The night was silent and still but for the sound of Ginny letting out a ragged breath. The dreaded words seemed to hang in the air, but nothing happened. No flash of green light, no muffled thump as a body hit the grass. Harry stood in the same spot he had a moment ago, alive and well, while Dolohov stood frozen, mouth agape, staring at his wand. The shimmering walls of Kreacher's transparent prison were hard to see in the darkness of the cloudy night, but Dolohov stood magicless and helpless all the same.

No one moved. Dolohov looked puzzled for a moment. He pushed against Kreacher's invisible wall with his shoulder and then stumbled backwards as he met resistance. He raised his wand. "_Salidas exumai_," he snarled.

Nothing happened.

"_Crucio_!" Dolohov hissed next, pointing his wand at Harry. Still, nothing happened. Dolohov's bemusement quickly turned to panic as he whirled and pointed his wand at the rest of Harry's friends in turn. "_Crucio. Crucio! CRUCIO!_" he screeched. There was silence.

"His magic's gone," Hermione said softly, eyes wide.

Harry had no idea how long Kreacher's invisible prison would last. When Kreacher had sapped Ron's magic earlier, he had waited for Harry's command before reversing the spell; but this new magic was unpredictable and Harry wasn't willing to take chances.

"Give up your wands," Harry said, addressing the rest of the Death Eaters with what he hoped was a commanding tone. He had no idea if Kreacher could extend his magic to the others and wasn't willing to experiment…but the Death Eaters did not know that.

There was a collective pause, as if they were all waiting for one of them to stand up, to attack Harry, to free Dolohov. But before anyone could do or say anything, there was a great commotion and clamour from inside the house. Everyone turned to see a group of Aurors burst out of Harry's front door – they had finally arrived, probably having Flooed in through the fireplace. There were only a few of them, and some of them looked a bit worse for wear, but that was the tipping point; the Death Eaters turned and ran.

The yard erupted into chaos again as Harry's friends dove for surrendered wands and the Aurors spilled out into the yard. Harry recognized Williamson, who made short work of corralling a group of fleeing Death Eaters with a glowing lasso that lashed out from his wand. Another pair of Aurors trapped Travers and Nott between two walls of flame; nearby, Sri disarmed Nott and then Petrified him in one swift motion. Mrs Weasley led another Auror over to where Ron was shielding Hugh with his own body and Hermione was guarding Hugh's grandparents, still unconscious in the grass. Harry saw a very large blue bubble sprout from the Auror's wand to encompass them all before the Auror knelt down and began murmuring spells over the Muggles.

Harry suddenly caught sight of Proudfoot, who had just run out the front door and onto the porch. Their eyes met very briefly; Proudfoot gave Harry a nod, and Harry nodded back. Then Proudfoot hurled himself into the battle as well.

Meanwhile, Dolohov was still frantically hurling himself against the walls of Kreacher's no-magic zone. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" he screamed. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?"

"I'd get used to it, if I were you," said Harry. "I've a feeling this is going to be your new cell at Azkaban."

Then he, too, re-entered the fray.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I know it's been a ridiculous amount of time between this chapter and the last one, and a ridiculous amount of time since I started this story in the first place! But I am dedicated to finishing it, and now we're nearly at the end. Just one more chapter and the epilogue and I'll finally be done.

I am constantly amazed by the number of emails I get telling me that people have added this story to their Favorite Stories, or Story Alert, or that they've left a review. I read every single one of them and I am so grateful for the encouragement that they provide. I hope no one's given up on the fic and I'd love to know if you were one of the people who started reading this years ago and are still following. Thanks for sticking with me and please keep reading and enjoying!

An enormous thank you to my beta, Michael Ho. He took the original chapter that I had written (which is now unrecognizable compared to what you've just read) and turned it into an amazing final product with his suggestions, comments, and constructive criticism. I can't express how grateful I am for his constant help and support. Michael, you deserve as much credit for this chapter as I do…thank you a million times over!


	18. Chapter 17: Ron

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 17: Ron**

Arbour Glen was crawling with people - Mediwizards, Healers, Aurors, members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, and other official-looking Ministry types. There was the sound of hurried footsteps as booted Aurors swarmed into and out of the house. Brusque voices could be heard snapping orders. Grim-looking groups of wizards and witches kept appearing and disappearing in the fireplace. The epicentre of the chaos seemed to be Harry's kitchen, where the Mediwizards had set up temporarily. It was a flurry of activity, with Mediwizards and a few Healers brought in from St. Mungo's rushing around tending to injured Aurors and even a few Stunned Death Eaters. The injured were sprawled out on cots that had been hastily conjured and then shoved up against Harry's pantry or oven or kitchen sink to make enough room for everybody to move around.

It was in this chaos that Ron and Hermione found themselves with a frantic five-year-old. They were trying to soothe Hugh as a Healer examined his grandparents, who were lying side-by-side, unconscious, on the kitchen table. The little boy was panicked, wide eyes darting around the room, arms occasionally reaching out towards his grandparents. He seemed unable to understand either Ron or Hermione as they tried to speak to him and keep him calm.

"Hugh, mate…Hugh," Ron tried to say over the din in the kitchen, "it's all right, it's okay…it's over now…"

Hugh did not respond, just sort of whimpered as he looked around wildly. Nearby, an Auror gave a great yelp as a Mediwizard poured something green and smoking onto a burn on the Auror's leg. The potion hissed and gave off copious amounts of green smoke as it came into contact with the Auror's skin. Hugh clutched fearfully onto Ron as the smoke covered half the kitchen.

"C'mon," said Ron brusquely, scooping Hugh up into his arms and heading for the back door. This was not exactly the environment for a frantic child who had just been exposed to the worst kinds of magic to be in. He and Hermione made their way through the crowd of medical professionals and Aurors as everyone coughed and waved the smoke away, complaining loudly at the bloke with the green potion. Ron shoved through the back door with Hugh in tow, Hermione right behind him, and stepped out into the brisk night. The door shut behind them with a banging sound, muffling the noises and commotion within the house. Ron felt Hugh begin to tremble in his arms.

"He needs to rest," Ron grunted, shifting Hugh's weight. "Hermione, could you…?"

"_Dormendo_," she murmured, pointing her wand at the boy.

Ron was relieved to see the terror die out of Hugh's eyes as they drooped. The little boy's head lolled against Ron's shoulder as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

They silently sat down on the stoop facing Harry's back garden and gazed into the night, which was suddenly and strangely quiet after the events of the evening and the chaos inside the house. Hugh slept on, his head resting on Ron's shoulder. Hermione leaned against his other shoulder, her body warm against his in the chilly night air. Both of them were covered in dirt and a bit worse for wear – Ron could already feel several muscles stiffening – but these were the least of their problems.

"What am I going to do?" Ron whispered after a long silence.

"About what?" Hermione asked softly.

"The Muggles," said Ron. "What happened to them…it's my fault."

"Ron, you can't - "

"I was their Secret-Keeper," Ron said miserably. "Fat lot of good that did." He felt a flare of the anger that had consumed him moments ago, out in the yard with the Death Eaters. "Used my own bloody joke products to take them, those - "

"Ron," Hermione interrupted. "You cannot blame yourself for what happened. You did everything in your power to protect that little boy and his family. How could you have possibly known that they would…how they would…" she trailed off.

Ron was silent for a moment. "They tortured him, Hermione."

"I know," she said in a small voice. She was quiet for a moment. "They're going to have to wipe his memory, you know."

"No," said Ron abruptly.

Hermione frowned and sat up straight, turning to look at him. "Ron, I don't like it any more than you do, but…they're Muggles…what they've seen…"

"They should have a choice," Ron said with sudden, fierce conviction. The Somervilles had been innocent bystanders, unaware of the danger he had put them in simply by interacting with him. After all that had happened, after unknowingly dragging them into this mess, he owed them that, at least.

Hermione was quiet, looking at Hugh. "You're right," she whispered after a long silence. "Obliviation is our quick fix…but it's not quick and it's not easy for the people whose memories we take…"

Ron felt a rush of gratitude that Hermione seemed to understand. He couldn't just let these Muggles be Obliviated by the Ministry's clean-up crew and sent on their way.

"They're going to want to question him, too," Ron said grimly.

"Bugger them," said Hermione, uncharacteristically. Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Ron, Hermione."

It was Ginny at the back door, her face streaked with dirt, her left hand bandaged up. "The Aurors want to talk to you," she said.

The two of them exchanged looks and followed Ginny into the house, Hugh still in Ron's arms. Harry was in the kitchen now with one of the Aurors - Proudfoot, Ron remembered he was called, the important-looking one. There was another wizard in black robes standing a little apart from them, a familiar insignia on his robe - an "O" with the image of a wand behind it. An Obliviator. Ron's shoulders tensed. He tried to ignore the Obliviator and turned his attention to Hugh's grandparents.

"Are they all right?" Ron asked, nodding towards the still-unconscious Muggles on the kitchen table.

Proudfoot nodded. "No permanent damage done. The Healers are keeping them unconscious for the time being while the potions they've given them take effect." His eyes darted over to Hugh. "The boy?"

"He was a bit…overwhelmed, so we put a Sleeping Charm on him," Ron explained, shifting to adjust Hugh's weight in his arms.

Proudfoot cleared his throat. "We'll er…need to talk to him, of course."

Ron glanced at Hermione and then stood up straighter. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said in a voice which was much louder than he intended it to be.

Proudfoot raised an eyebrow, as did Harry. Proudfoot looked irritated; Harry looked impressed.

"Let me talk to him," Ron said quickly. "He doesn't know you, he's scared, and no offense, but I doubt Auror training covered the interrogation of five-year-olds."

Proudfoot considered this for a moment, then sighed and rubbed at one of his temples. "Fine. This way," he said briskly, leading them into Harry's dining room, which was a bit quieter than the kitchen. Ron and Hermione followed; the Obliviator stayed behind in the kitchen, but hovered ominously near the doorway to the dining room. Ginny murmured something to Harry, her unbandaged hand resting on his arm. He nodded and she walked off towards the living room, where the rest of Ron's family and the others were sitting and talking in low voices. Ron knew that Mum had contacted his father and the Grangers at the Burrow to let them know they were all right; they would meet them there eventually. But first, Ron had to sort out the mess he had made for the people he had sworn to protect.

Harry walked into the room as Ron gently sat Hugh down in a chair at the dining room table. He glanced at Proudfoot, who nodded, then pointed his wand at the little boy. "_Ennervate_."

Hugh woke slowly, sitting up and stretching. Ron saw a series of emotions flit through the little boy's eyes – a blank look, then confusion, then remembering, then terror, and confusion again. Ron reached forward and grabbed one of Hugh's hands. The boy was pale and wide-eyed. With a chubby fist he clutched at the hand Ron had offered, as if he were hanging on for dear life. Ron knelt down in front of the chair so that the two of them were at eye level.

"All right?" he asked gently. Hugh's breathing was shallow and his eyes remained wide and unblinking. "Do you remember what happened?"

Hugh's eyes seemed to re-focus and he blinked rapidly. "They came, Ron," he said in a small, trembling voice. "They came for me…the evil wizards…in…in the forest."

"I know," said Ron. "And you were really brave, mate. Absolutely brilliant."

"Are they…all gone now?"

"They're gone."

"Will…will they ever come back?"

"They won't come back," Ron said firmly. "Don't worry. I'm going to make sure nothing bad happens to you."

Hugh's eyes darted over to the others in the room. Ron squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, mate, those are my friends. They're not bad wizards," he said.

Hugh nodded slowly, looked away from the others, and then looked directly at Ron. "Are you a wizard too?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Yeah," said Ron simply.

"A good one?"

"A good one," Ron confirmed. "Listen, mate, I need you to do something for me. Can you tell me what happened? How the bad wizards came for you?"

The little boy shuddered, his eyes wide again. Ron squeezed his hand tightly once more. "Tell me like it's a story, Hugh. We already know the end of the story, right? The good wizards won, right?"

Hugh took a deep breath. "Yeah. The good wizards won," he said shakily. "The bad ones…they came when we were in Granddad's car."

"You left the house," Ron said, and he felt a dull pang in his chest. The house that he was protecting, as their Secret-Keeper. How could he have overlooked that? How could he have allowed them any chance to leave?

Hugh nodded. "I was really, really sick so Granny and Granddad were taking me to hospital."

Ron heard Harry murmur something to Proudfoot. _My own joke products_, Ron thought in disgust, _used to make him sick_. An unexpected thought suddenly flitted through his mind – if the Death Eaters could use Weasley products as a weapon, why not the Aurors? Why not make things to help the 'good wizards', as Hugh put it? He filed the thought away for later and re-focused on Hugh.

"Then what happened?" Ron asked gently.

"I don't know," said Hugh in a very small voice. "Then I was here and…and it hurt a lot."

Ron clenched his other hand, the one that wasn't holding Hugh's, into a fist at his side, trying to ball up his rage and stay calm for Hugh. "And that's it? You don't remember anything else?"

Hugh shook his head. "It hurt a _lot_," he whispered again, his bottom lip trembling.

"I know, mate," Ron said hoarsely. "I know." He glanced over at Proudfoot, who nodded to the Obliviator out in the hall. The cloaked wizard walked in, wand out, and Ron saw Hugh shrink in terror.

"No!" Ron said, alarmed.

"What now? You can't possibly expect us to leave his memory intact," Proudfoot said, a trace of annoyance in his voice.

"Let me do it, then," Ron said quickly. "And…and let me explain, first."

"Mr Weasley," Proudfoot said, now very clearly annoyed, "first of all, you are not a trained Obliviator. Secondly, what will it matter if he won't remember anyway?"

"It should matter to us," Ron retorted. "You lot…you'll just Obliviate anything that moves. Maybe it's not always the solution. Maybe…maybe the Muggles should be given a choice, if we're going to be mucking around with their minds."

Proudfoot raised his eyebrows. "So you're suggesting that every Muggle who gets caught up in something magical should be given a choice whether or not they wish to participate in the Statute of Secrecy, is that it?"

"Actually," Hermione piped up, "it says quite plainly in the Statute of Secrecy that, in cases in which Muggles are placed or will continue to be in dangerous or life-threatening situations, they are permitted to have knowledge of the wizarding world and any magical activities that will have a direct impact on them." She said all this in the voice that she used when quoting something. Ron did not doubt that this was, in fact, word-for-word what it said in the Statute of Secrecy in some sub-article or another.

"I think," Hermione continued, "that living next door to Harry Potter may have some direct impacts on Hugh and his grandparents, don't you?"

Proudfoot sighed, looking exasperated. "And since when are you an expert on Magical Law, Miss Granger?"

"Hermione's sort of an expert on everything," said Harry. "Comes in handy."

"We've forgotten," Hermione said softly, "that we're stealing moments – sometimes even days, weeks - of people's lives. Ron's right; they should have a say in that."

Ron had a sudden flash of understanding – Hermione had modified her parents' memories without their knowledge or consent in order to protect them, and it had nearly ruined her relationship with them. He tightened his grip on Hugh's hand and glanced up at Proudfoot, waiting.

Proudfoot stood there stiffly for a moment. He glanced at Harry, then at Hugh. Shaking his head and sighing again, he turned to the Obliviator. "You can report back to the Ministry," he said curtly.

The Obliviator looked at him quizzically. "Sir?"

"Write a report, or do whatever it is you lot do when you're not…Obliviating," Proudfoot said dismissively. Hermione seemed to relax and Ron breathed a sigh of relief. Ignoring them, Proudfoot turned his attention to Harry. "Now, Potter, come with me. We need to discuss what in the blazes happened with that house-elf of yours..."

Ron shot Harry a grateful look as he followed Proudfoot out of the room, leaving only Ron, Hermione, and Hugh.

"Statute of Secrecy?" Ron asked her, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione smiled. "Well I read quite a lot, you know."

He smiled back and felt another emotion amongst his tumultuous feelings, a quite singular emotion for this brilliant girl who had miraculously decided to be with him. It was not a novel feeling by any means – in fact, he had known for some time that he was, and probably always had been, quite hopelessly in love with her. But every now and then he felt it blaze up inside him; he would let his thoughts skip ahead to the future they could have together, now that everything was over. In these moments, he felt unbelievably grateful for the life they could have, but unbelievably sad for the ones, like his brother's, that had been cut short.

Ron took a deep breath. Right now, he had to focus on the terrified little boy sitting in front of him, his legs dangling over the chair.

"Listen, Hugh," said Ron softly, "I can do something for you…but only if you like, okay?" He raised his wand and saw Hugh flinch, but only slightly. "I can use magic to make all of this a bad dream, if you want. And when you wake up, you won't remember the bad wizards, or getting hurt, or any of it. Do you want that?"

Hugh had finally started to cry. It was as if he had been waiting for the others to leave. But he was crying without the usual gasps and sobs of children - crying silently, fat tears sliding down his round, pale face. He hesitated for a moment. "What about Granny and Granddad?" Hugh asked, his voice shaking.

"They're going to be fine."

"Will it be a bad dream for them too?"

"Only if they want."

Hugh nodded, tears still quietly sliding down his face. "It really really hurt, Ron," Hugh choked out. "But I never cried. I never cried 'til now."

"I know," Ron said, his heart breaking.

Hugh sniffled, staring down at his feet. He swung them back and forth a few times. "I think…I think I want it to be a bad dream."

"Okay," said Ron. He took a deep breath and then felt something break within him. "I'm so sorry this happened to you," he suddenly blurted out, and now _his_ voice was shaking. He squeezed Hugh's little hand in his. "I'll never let anyone hurt you again," he said fiercely. "I promise. I _promise_."

Hugh nodded again and used the back of his free hand to wipe the tears from his face. He chewed his bottom lip pensively for a moment and then said, "Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you use magic to bring Mummy and Daddy back to life?" Hugh said in a very small voice. "Can you make that a bad dream too?"

Hermione made a small sound and turned her back to them. Ron swallowed the lump in his throat. "No," he said quietly. "I can't do that, Hugh. I'm sorry."

Ron saw Hugh's shoulders slump. "That's okay," he whispered. "You're a really good wizard, Ron. You're the best grown-up I ever knew."

Ron smiled, feeling a pang in his chest. "Thanks, mate. You're the best kid I ever knew."

Hugh managed a small smile too, the tear tracks still fresh on his face. Ron lifted his wand, and Hugh didn't flinch at all this time. "Okay. I'm going to say the magic word now. Don't be scared."

Hugh nodded and closed his eyes, clutching tightly onto Ron's fingers. Ron looked up at Hermione.

"I want – I need for it to be perfect," he said, his voice cracking. "I need you to help."

She turned back towards him and there were fresh tear tracks on her cheeks. Nodding, she knelt beside him, wrapping her hand around the hand that was gripping his wand. They both pointed his wand at the boy, and said very softly, "_Obliviate_."

Hugh's grip on Ron's hand went slack and his head slumped forward, his eyes unfocused. Ron quickly performed another Sleeping Charm, causing Hugh's eyelids to droop and the rest of his body to relax as he fell once again into a deep and dreamless sleep. Ron turned to Hermione, who was hastily wiping the tears from her own cheeks. Wordlessly, they both stood; she turned towards him and he walked into her embrace.

Then Ron felt everything suddenly release, as if a dam had burst within him. Like Hugh, he had not cried; not at Fred's funeral, not ever since. But as he clutched Hermione tightly he began to sob uncontrollably, for Hugh, for the Somervilles, for his own family, for Fred, for everything they had lost. And when he was finally done and spent, the familiar weight that had been his since for nearly a year – the weight that had settled on his shoulders the moment they had been forced to run from Bill's wedding and begin this dark chapter of their lives, when everything had changed and the terror started, - the weight seemed to have disappeared. He hugged Hermione tightly again and thought that maybe now, finally, he could move on.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I've decided to split up the final chapter into three parts – one for each character's point of view. They're not particularly long, but the good news is they're already written and edited so it's just a matter of me putting them up! There's also an epilogue, which is (hooray) also already written and edited. After several long (LONG) years of writing this fic, I think I'll finally be done in the next week or so.

Thank you SO much for those of you who continue to read and review this fic. Your reviews are so motivating and keep me writing. Honestly, I can't tell you how much it means to me for you to take 30 seconds, hit the button, and tell me what you think.

A million thanks to my beta reader, Michael Ho. As always, he took this chapter from good to great.


	19. Chapter 18: Hermione

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 18: Hermione**

Their relationship had never really followed the traditional sequence of things. So when, after nearly eight years of sharing secrets and laughter and tears and mysteries and dangers and several very close brushes with death, Ron finally asked Hermione out on a proper date, she wasn't really upset that it had taken him this long.

In fact, it felt sort of trivial to be 'going on a date' with someone she knew so well. Surely spending one's entire formative years seeing a person every single day negated the need for a dating period? But it was a nice thought nonetheless, and out of respect for the gravity of the occasion Hermione dutifully spent over an hour applying generous amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Hermione's mother exclaimed and fussed over it when she came downstairs, although her father admitted that he liked it, "just fine the other way."

Hermione had been worried that things with her parents would be strained again, after that night at Arbour Glen. But to Hermione's surprise and relief, everything that had happened when she had left her parents at the Burrow was forgotten. When she and Ron had Apparated back into the Weasleys' kitchen after the battle at Arbour Glen, a bit worse for wear but otherwise intact, Mum had stood up quickly and then had let out a strangled sob of relief before rushing forward to hug her daughter fiercely.

That night they were all giddy with relief and exhausted and there had been no time for explanations. But the next day, Hermione had made a point of telling her parents and Grandma Jean about the events of the night previous in full, leaving nothing out this time. She had come to the realization that her parents deserved to be in the know, that they deserved to be trusted. Not all of it was what they wanted to hear – Mum especially had been pale and quiet throughout most of the tale. But then Hermione had explained how she had helped Ron fight for the Somervilles – for their right to have a choice in what happened with their memories. Once Hugh's grandparents had woken up, in fact, they had both chosen to keep their memories, despite how horrifying some of them must have been. It was important for them to remember, the elderly couple had explained, so that they could protect their grandson.

Neither one of Hermione's parents had said out loud that her actions with regards to the Somervilles' memories meant something to them, but Hermione could see that it did. Things were still not perfect between Hermione and her parents, but they were on the road to trusting one another again, and that was something.

"So where are you going?" Mum asked after examining Hermione's newly shiny hair from all angles.

"Just someplace in Diagon Alley, I think," Hermione said distractedly, sifting through a pile of mail on the kitchen counter. "For lunch, or something."

"Well that's a bit boring," said Grandma Jean, flipping through the newspaper. This was extremely odd, as Grandma Jean considered herself above newspapers.

"Grandma, it's not as if we don't already know - "

"Mum, _what_ are you doing?" Dad said in an exasperated voice.

Grandma Jean was in essence tearing the newspaper apart; she was glancing at sections and then tossing them over her shoulder before continuing to flip through what remained.

"Looking for the weather forecast," Grandma Jean said calmly.

"Well that's not…it's…here, let me," Dad spluttered, pulling the decimated newspaper out of her hands.

"It's not my fault that old rag is poorly organized," Grandma Jean huffed. "It's all rubbish, anyways, who on earth cares that the Prime Minister likes to cook spaghetti bolognese?"

"Why the sudden interest in the weather?" Mum asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Because I can't abide airplanes as it is, Helen, and if there's any chance of a thunderstorm I'm going to avoid flying out on that day," Grandma Jean said huffily.

Hermione, who had been drifting through the kitchen searching for something, suddenly froze. "You're leaving?"

"Well, I can't stay here forever," Grandma said breezily, "if the English weather doesn't kill me, the cooking will. No offense, Helen."

"None taken," Mum said dryly.

"But…but…" Hermione was at a loss for words. "I mean, you just found out about…about the wizarding world and I thought…"

"Hermione, my dear," said Grandma Jean warmly, reaching out and taking one of Hermione's hands. "I've found what I was looking for."

Hermione looked down at her grandmother's hand, dry and papery in her own. It had been unexpected, this relationship she had formed with her grandmother. She had been an ally when Hermione needed it these past few months, a confidante in the Granger household. And Hermione had truly enjoyed telling Grandma Jean all about her world; a relief, after having to play Muggle with everyone else she knew in the Muggle world. Hermione sighed and gave her grandmother's hand a squeeze. "I'm going to miss you," she blurted out.

"You're going to miss your date, as well," Grandma Jean said briskly, all business again. She gave Hermione's hand a quick pat and then snatched the newspaper from Dad. "And if you're looking for the folder, Hermione, you left it in the garden room."

"Right…thanks..." Hermione said. She glanced at her parents, who each gave her a wordless shrug as if to indicate that Grandma Jean's abrupt decision to leave was a surprise for them too.

"Well I'm not leaving _today_, for heaven's sake," Grandma Jean said, exasperated. "I'll be here when you get back. Get a move on, Hermione, it's not proper to keep a young man waiting."

Hermione headed for the garden room and found what she was looking for on the window seat – an aged, yellowing file folder. As she picked it up, she felt another pang thinking of her grandmother's departure. They had shared this together as well. After they had learned what was inside, Grandma Jean had listened patiently to all of Hermione's questions and big ideas. Thinking about it, the excitement that had been bubbling inside Hermione for the past few days resurfaced. She clutched the file folder to her chest, turned on the spot and vanished.

Originally, Ron had been seized with a fit of chivalry (or perhaps he had been consulting a certain book Hermione happened to know about) and had insisted upon coming to her house to get her. But Hermione, fearing that he would be set upon and interrogated by her parents – or worse, Grandma Jean – had quickly asserted that it would be easier for her to just meet him in Diagon Alley. She Apparated in front of the joke shop, which she could see was thick with people. Now that the products had ceased malfunctioning, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was as popular as ever. Inside, Ron spotted her through the window; he raised a hand, said something to Allegra, and then squeezed out from behind the cash register. Ron blinked as he emerged into the sunlit street; it was a bright autumn day, crisp and clear.

"Whoa," said Ron as he approached her, giving her a once over. "Your hair's all…smooth."

"I used quite a lot of hair potion," Hermione confessed.

"Well…it looks really nice," said Ron. "Although I like it just fine the other way, to be honest."

Hermione grinned.

"What's that?" Ron asked, gesturing to the folder she was clutching tightly.

Hermione waved a hand. "In a bit. Where are we going?"

Ron suddenly looked slightly nervous. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, uh…nowhere really special, or anything…just thought we could go to that new place up the street?"

New shops, cafés, and pubs had been sprouting up in Diagon Alley every week since the war had ended. Ron was gesturing vaguely in the direction of a small café a few doors down from the joke shop. "Hope it's all right, I've gone a couple times, they've got some nice things…"

"It's perfect," said Hermione, beaming. Ron gave her a relieved grin back, and the two of them headed up to the café.

They were seated quickly. The waitress looked unfamiliar to Hermione, but she seemed to recognize both her and Ron - Hermione had still not entirely adjusted to the fact that everyone in the wizarding world suddenly seemed to know who she was - and very excitedly sat them at a table near the window, overlooking the busy street. There was an awkward moment in which Ron tried to pull out Hermione's chair for her at the same time that she tried to pull out her chair for herself, and he ended up stepping on her foot instead. Hermione suspected once again that such a chivalrous attempt was the product of a certain book she knew Ron had inherited. Ron seemed to have another moment of slight panic when the waitress asked him about drink orders – the beverage list looked lengthy and foreboding – but Hermione quickly ordered a Butterbeer and a relieved-looking Ron followed suit.

"Have you spoken to the Somervilles?" Hermione asked as the waitress hurried away, almost giddy with the prospect of bringing the pair of them Butterbeers.

Ron's face fell. "Yeah. They're all right, but…" he sighed. "They're talking about moving. Someplace sunny, they said – Majorca, or something." Ron fiddled with the tablecloth, looking miserable. "Small chance they'll be attacked by mad wizards in Majorca."

"Ron…" Hermione said softly.

"Can't blame them," he said darkly. "I'd move too, if my next door neighbour got me kidnapped and tortured."

"Ron, you need to stop this," Hermione said sharply. "It wasn't your fault, you did everything in your power - "

"I know," Ron said with a sigh. "And I know it's actually best if they do move, stay away from us for a little while. I know that. It's just…I'm going to miss him. Hugh. I know it's a bit weird, getting so attached to a five-year-old, but…he was a laugh and…sort of what I needed these past few months and…he was just a great kid, you know?" He fiddled with the salt shaker distractedly. "I hope when we have kids, they turn out like him."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat and she felt herself flush. She looked at Ron and tried to catch his eye, but he was off in his own world and didn't even seem to realize what he had said. Hermione ducked her head and smiled to herself as she opened her menu, a warm feeling spreading through her.

"So are you going to tell me what's in the folder?" Ron asked suddenly, looking up.

Hermione cleared her throat. "It's ah…well, it's my great-grandfather's personnel file. From the Ministry."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "How long have you had it?"

"A few days," Hermione confessed. "Mathilda gave it to me that night, before everything happened at Arbour Glen."

In fact, she had forgotten about until the day after, when she had discovered the yellowing file folder on the table in the front hall, left there when she had sprinted off after Grandma Jean that fateful night. Hermione had picked it up, weighing the folder in her hands, trying to decide what to do with it. Then she had taken the file to her grandmother and wordlessly shown her the name stamped upon it - _Mullican, Caleb. _The two of them had gone up to the attic together, where all of this had begun. There Hermione had sat cross-legged on the attic floor, the folder balanced upon her legs, reading the documents within to her grandmother. After all, Grandma Jean had waited her whole life to learn about the man the folder pertained to, the wizard who was her father.

"Well?" Ron said in a hushed voice, staring at the folder. "What's it say?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "He worked as a liaison officer," she began, "for magical creatures. He was the Ministry contact for several groups throughout his career – goblins, centaurs, but mostly..." she took a deep breath. "House-elves."

Ron grinned. "Guess it runs in the family."

"Some of his reports are in here," Hermione continued, beginning to speak rather quickly. "He thought…well, he deduced…that there were still house-elves living wild out there somewhere. In tribes, like in ancient times – they're called Moordats, their tribes. I've been - "

" – reading about them," Ron finished for her, smiling. "You think he found them?"

"I _know_ he found them," Hermione said, taking out a piece of parchment. It was dated _9_ _August, 1932 _and handwritten in bold, broad script. "There's several excerpts in here from what sounds like his diary, or perhaps they're just reports back to the Ministry. There had always been rumours, of course, of wild house-elves – well, just elves actually, I suppose. A tribe out there somewhere that had never been domesticated, had never been captured and trained by wizards. My great-grandfather had been travelling, searching for them, trying to find the last Moordat. This is the last thing in here that's written by him," she pointed to the sheaf of parchment and then began reading her great-grandfather's words. "_I have found them. I cannot say where, for fear these words could fall into the hands of the other who is searching for them as well. It has been difficult, but the patriarchal family has finally accepted my presence amongst them and so the others have too. Here, where they serve only their own kind, their magic seems to have no bounds...it makes one wonder what they are truly capable of._"

"What they're truly capable of…" Ron said quietly, clearly remembering the magic he had witnessed from Kreacher at Arbour Glen. "What else is there?"

"That's it," Hermione said.

"That's it?" Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "So what happened to him? To the last tribe?"

"No one knows," Hermione sighed, shuffling through more papers in the file. "There's a missing persons report in here for him, dated October 1932. Then a follow-up, December 1932, in which he was listed as missing in action. They told my grandmother and her family that he was dead. They said it was an accident. He traveled a lot, so they just assumed something happened on a train, or…whatever."

"So he just…disappeared?" Ron asked. "Wait. What was that part in the diary…the bit about 'the other searching for them'…?"

"Someone else was obviously trying to find the last wild elves," Hermione said.

"Who?"

"A group of wild house-elves…powerful magic that knows no bounds..." Hermione said softly. "This was 1932, Ron. Who do you think?"

"_Grindelwald_?" Ron said incredulously after a moment. "But…he wasn't really powerful until the 1940's, everybody knows that."

"And how do you think he gained power, Ron?" said Hermione. "It was the same with Voldemort, recruiting the creatures that wizards had rejected or marginalized. The vampires, the Dementors, the giants…"

"So you think that Grindelwald found the last tribe. And your great-grandfather…?"

"Never heard from again," Hermione said quietly. She closed the file. Ron sat back in his chair, a stunned expression on his face. Absently, he reached for his Butterbeer; the waitress had brought their drinks at some point, but neither of them had noticed.

"Ron," said Hermione, some of the excitement that had been bubbling within her these past weeks coming to the surface, "don't you see what this means? How important all of this is?"

Ron looked up at her and scrutinized her face closely. "You've got that look," he said warily. "That S.P.E.W. look."

"My great-grandfather found wild house-elves," Hermione said excitedly. "There's a chance…they could still be out there…" Ron looked doubtful. "And even if they're not," Hermione continued, "these documents prove the existence of autonomous elves, of a society and a hierarchy independent of our own! It proves that they're capable of being so much more than wizards' servants! That they're capable of being free!"

She was pleased to see that, despite his sarcastic S.P.E.W. comment, Ron actually looked thoughtful.

"Honestly," he said slowly, "I never gave them a second thought. No one ever does. But then Dobby…and Kreacher…" He looked up at her. "Have you told Harry about this?"

"Yes," Hermione said, and she felt a bit guilty seeing the look of disappointment flicker across Ron's face. "I'm sorry, Ron. I wanted to speak to him first though, with what happened with Kreacher that night…I know Harry's talked to Proudfoot about it, and I think…I think something might be starting. I need to do more research, though, and I think Kreacher might be able to help me…"

Ron chuckled, shaking his head. "You're amazing, you know," he said admiringly, and Hermione felt herself flush. "Mad, probably, but amazing." He took another sip of his Butterbeer. "So, next on the agenda for Hermione Granger is single-handedly changing the way all of wizarding society views house-elves, possibly finding some wild ones hiding out someplace, the small matter of her N.E.W.T.s…"

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts," Hermione said abruptly. Oddly, she had not really decided it until the words came out of her mouth.

Ron spluttered into his Butterbeer. "What?" he exclaimed, looking up at her sharply.

"I'm going to work for Mathilda," Hermione said decisively. The more she said it out loud the more confident she felt. "In the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures." She suddenly felt abashed that she had not discussed any of this with Ron as of yet. "She…sort of offered me a job. That night, before Arbour Glen. I'm sorry, I should have told you, but with everything that happened…"

"But…but…your N.E.W.T.s," Ron said in bewilderment. "You said we had loads of stuff to learn still. What about… Elemental Transfiguration, or how to do an Anti-Disapparition Jinx…?"

"I did Anti-Disapparition Jinxes all over Arbour Glen," Hermione admitted. "I've known how to do them since fourth year."

Ron gaped at her.

Hermione smiled sadly. "I didn't want to go back to Hogwarts to learn Elemental Transfiguration, Ron. I wanted to go back for…well, for the three of us."

Ron wrinkled his forehead. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that we never really properly had our seventh year, and every other year we were fighting Basilisks or discovering ex-convicts under the Whomping Willow…it would have been nice, you know, just to have a normal year of school like normal people."

"Hermione, you go to _Hogwarts_," Ron pointed out. "There's a fair chance you'll be strangled in Herbology class or mauled in Care of Magical Creatures. I don't think there's such thing as a nice, normal year of school."

Hermione laughed. "You know what I mean. And it would have been nice for…well, for us, too. Heaven knows we wasted all that time bickering with one another when we could have been…well, you know…together."

Ron's ears coloured a bit at that, but the corner of his mouth upturned in a crooked grin. "Well, no real losses there - I hear that getting up to the girl's dormitory is a bit of a pain," he said wryly.

"I'm not saying I'll never take my N.E. ," Hermione explained. "I just can't go back this year, as a student, full-time…I mean, maybe I could sort of do what Harry's doing, still take a few classes while I'm working at the Ministry..."

Ron nodded, but still seemed surprised. "So…what exactly made you change your mind?"

"I've got things to do," Hermione said simply.

Ron gazed at her for a second, as if trying to read her mind, then he relaxed and smiled. "Yeah," he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "Me too." And then, to her surprise, he told her about several new ideas for the shop, the new line of products that he wanted to develop, how he wanted to go beyond joke products and create things that could be of use to the Ministry and the Aurors. Hermione smiled, seeing how animated Ron was and how his eyes lit up at the prospect of this new project, when just a few short months ago he had been grief-ridden and afraid and lost.

Hermione impulsively leaned across the table and kissed him mid-sentence. He seemed surprised at first but then responded enthusiastically. His lips were melded to hers, his hand as in her hair…it was all quite racy for a little café in the middle of the afternoon. On the other side of the café, Hermione heard their star-struck waitress actually squeal with delight and point out who they were in a loud whisper to some other customers. Under normal circumstances Hermione would have been mortified, but she found at that particular moment that she truly could not care less.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Only one more chapter (Harry) and then an epilogue...wow. Thank you so much to those who are still with me, reading and reviewing. Thank you also, as always, to my beta reader Michael Ho for his invaluable comments and suggestions for this and every chapter.

Of note - I realize that not all of this story is in line with "interview canon"...but keep in mind that I began the story way back when Deathly Hallows was first released, so I was going on limited interview information. Therefore, some events and future paths for our heroes may differ from what JKR has said awaits them in any of her semi-recent interviews.


	20. Chapter 19: Harry

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Chapter 19: Harry**

A few days after the attack on Arbour Glen, a cold spell swept through the country. The sky turned dark and ominous for several days, and any leaves remaining on the trees were blasted off by strong, bitterly cold winds. The weather wizards on the wireless kept repeating the words "freak storm" in menacing voices, but it never came. Still, the threat of it and the unseasonably cold weather kept everyone indoors for a bit, which was just fine by Harry. It gave him an excuse to stay in and work through several of the things that had happened over the past few months, culminating in the battle that had raged upon his doorstep.

One of the things that he had to work out was what to do about Kreacher and the powers that he had stumbled upon. The house-elf had quietly gone back to his household duties, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had been instrumental in subduing Dolohov and turning the tide of the battle. Harry was still not quite sure what had happened, or what it could mean for Kreacher specifically and house-elves in general.

Only a few people understood what had happened that night – and of the Aurors, only The Foot understood that it was a mere house-elf who had subdued the new leader of the Death Eaters. Proudfoot had taken Harry aside that night after things with the Somervilles had been sorted out. Slowly, calmly, the usually brisk Auror had asked Harry about Kreacher and what had happened to Dolohov – how was it that a powerful Dark wizard had found himself helpless, suddenly sapped of his magic? Of note was the fact that Proudfoot had _asked_ for answers, not demanded them. Which was probably why Harry had ended up telling him everything.

Proudfoot had been quiet and pensive after Harry had finished. "I think, Potter," he had finally said slowly, "that it's best we keep this to ourselves for now. Something like this has to be handled very delicately…imagine what could happen, should the wrong people find out about this…"

"What do you mean?" Harry had asked.

Proudfoot had sighed. "Two things. One, that wizards everywhere are not going to take kindly to the idea that the creatures who have been doing their washing and making their beds are capable of taking their magic away," he had explained. "And two – imagine if the wrong people found out about this…what if they tried to use this magic as a weapon? I need to speak to some people…find out if it's safe to bring this out now, and who should know about it. Frankly, there are still some people at the Ministry who are not, shall we say, very progressive in their thinking when it comes to house elves. And there are others, still…even now…I question where their loyalties lie."

He had looked Harry in the eye then and had said, to Harry's surprise, "This is your choice, of course. I just recommend that you use caution."

Soon after this Harry had also had a very interesting conversation with Hermione. It seemed that she, too, had discovered something significant about the house-elves. There were wild house-elves out there somewhere; or at least, there had been. This revelation gave Harry even more to deliberate over – there were elves, then, who were capable of functioning on their own, without wizards. There were elves that had lived free and had enjoyed doing so. There could be elves out there who were capable of the same magic that Kreacher was – but who did not need to wait for a wizard's commands to use it. The week of the storm-that-wasn't gave Harry some time to process all this, to share his thoughts and bounce his ideas off of Ginny, who had happily shut herself up with him at Arbour Glen while they waited out the supposed storm.

After the year they had just gone through and the tumultuous summer that had followed, it felt too good to be true - he and Ginny spending quiet, cozy nights by the fire, waiting for a storm to come. In fact, they had found that being cooped up in the house was not nearly bad as anyone said it was, especially with no one else around and Kreacher tactfully disappearing for hours on end whenever Ginny came round. Harry was cautious at first, half-expecting Mr Weasley to turn up in the fireplace and demand that Ginny return home at a reasonable hour. But it soon became apparent that Ginny had made some sort of arrangement with her parents; on a few occasions, she had vaguely alluded to a row that seemed to have been won with the 'I'm an adult now' argument. Harry did not press for details. He was simply happy to have her with him – Ginny curled into him on the couch, her hair smelling of the fire, her lips on his as they made up for lost time.

The week of the storm-that-wasn't also gave Harry some time to mentally prepare for his official Auror debriefing of the Death Eater attack. He found it odd that his first official act as an Auror trainee would be to participate in a debriefing. Technically, Harry should not have had anything to debrief yet; normally, trainees were not permitted in the field during the first year of training. But the field had sort of forced itself upon Harry, so very soon after the attack on Arbour Glen he had found an official-looking Ministry owl at his kitchen window, with a summons to Auror Headquarters on the twentieth of October.

The morning of the debriefing dawned cold but sunny; the threat of the storm had finally passed. Ginny came round and Kreacher made a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs for both of them. Harry politely accepted his plate even though he felt as though his stomach had somehow managed to tie itself into a giant knot. After spooning scrambled eggs into Ginny's plate, Kreacher bowed and then left the two of them alone in the kitchen, muttering something vaguely about having a 'project' to work on. (Harry had spotted something scarlet and knitted tucked away with the rest of Kreacher's private things in his bedroom; he suspected that this project was to be some sort of Christmas present for him eventually, and marvelled that a being who could take away a wizard's magic with a snap of his fingers was spending his free time knitting what appeared to be a scarf.)

"Why are you so nervous, anyway?" Ginny asked as she tucked into her eggs and bacon. "You seem more agitated for this debriefing than you were when we were actually fighting the Death Eaters."

"I just don't know what to expect," Harry sighed, putting his fork down and pushing his plate away. "What if I had to put together a report, or something? I haven't even started training yet, I've no idea how to put together a report…"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You won't have to do a report," she said reassuringly. "They're just going to ask you what happened, that's all."

"And what do I say," Harry asked, "when they ask me about…?" he trailed off and nodded in the direction that Kreacher had gone.

They had discussed this several times over the past week. Ginny sighed. "I don't know, Harry. Honestly, I don't think it's something that we're going to be able to keep to ourselves forever. What does Hermione think?"

"You know Hermione, she's ready to change the world right at this minute."

Ginny did not respond at first; she was staring at Harry's full breakfast plate, seemingly lost in thought. She suddenly roused herself and looked back up at him.

"See how things go," she advised him. "You'll know what the right thing to do is when the moment comes." She glanced down at her wristwatch, a delicate silver thing that her parents had gotten her for her seventeenth birthday. "You'd better hurry, it's already half past eight. I'll come round here afterwards?"

"Er…I told Ron and Hermione I'd meet up with them, actually," Harry said, feeling a bit guilty. "I was going to go by the shop…Ron said he had some ideas he wanted to show me…"

Ginny looked crestfallen for only the briefest of seconds, then got up and started clearing her place at the table. "That's fine, you can tell me about the debriefing tomorrow."

"You can come, if you like," Harry said belatedly.

Ginny placed her dishes in the sink. "It's all right, I hear enough about Ron and his ideas at home."

Harry watched her for a moment as she did her dishes, her back to him. There was something else that he had been turning over in his mind over the past week - something that he had never really considered before from Ginny's perspective, but that was beginning to become apparent to him now.

"Are you ever…I mean, is it…all right?" Harry said uncertainly. "Me and Ron and Hermione. I mean, you don't feel…left out, or anything, do you?"

Ginny paused for a moment. She dried her hands and then turned around, leaning back against the counter. "I did," she said after another moment of consideration. "Last year, when the three of you disappeared and I didn't know if you were alive or dead. It felt stupid, planning little acts of rebellion against the Carrows when the three of you were off doing something important. But now…" she paused a moment, then smiled. "You have two friends who would risk their lives for you. Who have done. How can I possibly begrudge you that?"

Harry smiled, relieved. Ginny put her hands on her hips and suddenly turned serious. "Now, listen - are you or aren't you going to finish that breakfast?"

Harry glanced down at his full plate, bewildered by the sudden change in topic.

Ginny sighed heavily. "I've been sitting here for the past few minutes listening to this little Mum voice in my head…it keeps telling me to make sure you've eaten a proper breakfast before you go off to the Ministry. I've been trying to ignore it, but it's no good…I think it's hereditary," she said gloomily. "Now eat your stupid bacon."

Harry stared at her incredulously for a moment, then a grin slowly spread over his face and he burst out laughing. Ginny grinned back and walked towards him; Harry pulled her into his lap and they managed to distract each other for enough time that Ginny forgot about the bacon and Harry was nearly late for the debriefing. When he finally did Disapparate, the tied-up knot feeling in his stomach was gone.

* * *

Things at the Ministry were continuing to improve. The lifts were actually working now, and Harry only stumbled upon one cursed doorknob on his way into Auror Headquarters.

He was swiftly admitted into an empty wood-panelled room when he arrived. Most of the space in the room was taken up by a long, rectangular table. A large blackboard completely covered one wall. There were quills floating in front of every place at the table; as other people began to file in and sit down, they immediately grabbed the quill and then took out a little white notebook from their robes or shirt pockets. No one had told Harry to bring a little white notebook, or perhaps they would give it to him when he officially started training. So he sat there and just stared at the floating quill for a bit. Finally he grabbed it and started twirling it around in his fingers, just for something to do.

The table eventually filled with people; some Harry knew by name, and the rest he knew by sight. All of them had been there during the battle at Arbour Glen. There was Sri, and Williamson, who was now sporting an eye patch (he looked even more like a pirate now, with the patch, the dragonskin boots, and the ponytail); Brigs, Proudfoot, several Aurors whose names Harry did not know, and the Head of the Order of Aurors, Gawain Robards. Robards was a big, barrel-chested man with a thick red beard. He seemed to be frowning a lot as he flipped through several official-looking documents. Harry did not know much about him, other than the fact that he had agreed to let Harry begin the training program while he completed his N.E.W.T.s. He felt a sense of gratitude towards the Head, but he also felt slightly intimidated by him.

"Right. So," Robards suddenly said, looking up from the documents in front of him. "I've heard the side of the story from our lot, but I'd like to know first-hand from you what exactly happened at that house, Potter."

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, feeling foolish. His palms were beginning to sweat; the knot was back in his stomach. "Sorry, from….from the beginning?"

Robards looked at him for a moment and his expression softened. "This is your first day, isn't it Potter?"

"Yes, sir. Uh…technically."

"Bit much, I'm sure, to be having a debriefing on your first day," said Robards, not unkindly. Harry glanced around the room and a few of the Aurors smiled at him. "Guess we should take this opportunity to welcome you to the Auror trainee program and to wish you good luck." He grinned. "Not that you'll need it."

"'Course not, he's Harry bloody Potter!" said one of the Aurors Harry did not know, a man with grey spiky hair, and the rest of them laughed. Harry smiled weakly.

"Let's start from when Brigs turned up," Robards suggested.

"Yeah, and the lot of you Stunned me sky-high," grumbled Brigs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Whenever you're ready, son," Robards said to Harry. "Take your time."

Harry began uncertainly, but once he started the story poured out of him easily enough. The rest of the Aurors listened raptly; there was quite a lot of scratching on those white notepads. He told them everything - the names of the Death Eaters whom he had recognized and everything that Dolohov had said, as best he could remember it. He told them how his friends had come to his aid, how brilliant they had been. He went on for a bit longer than was necessary about how Ginny had duelled a Death Eater into the ground, and then trailed off stupidly when he realized he was carrying on a bit. He described the torture of the Somervilles and how the Death Eaters had managed to work around the Fidelius charm they had placed on them. The only thing Harry left out, catching Proudfoot's eye, was Kreacher. Without telling the Aurors about Kreacher's prison, the ending of the story was a bit vague. Harry caught Robards frowning and shooting questioning looks at certain Aurors – Proudfoot, whose face revealed nothing and Brigs, who was uncharacteristically quiet. Harry had the distinct impression that, amongst the chaos, Brigs was the only other Auror besides Proudfoot who had witnessed Kreacher's magic. But Brigs kept silent, and Harry found himself liking the man even more. Despite their best efforts, however, Robards picked up on the inconsistencies in Harry's tale.

"So how was Dolohov subdued?" Robards asked bluntly. He glanced at one of the parchments in front of him. "When we picked him up he was ranting about his magic being gone…"

Harry caught Proudfoot's eye again. He had suggested – not ordered– for Harry to keep quiet and so he had. Harry looked at him now - The Foot, his unlikely ally - and waited. If Proudfoot thought it was safe for this to come out now, it would come out…and things would start to change.

Proudfoot cleared his throat. "It seems, sir, that Potter has discovered something rather incredible."

"Well, if it allowed several civilians and a half-giant to somehow keep a group of Death Eaters at bay until the rest of you sorry lot showed up," said Robards, "I'm all ears."

Proudfoot looked at Harry again and nodded. They were among people who could be trusted, who were open-minded. It was safe. Harry took a deep breath. "It was my…uh…house-elf, sir."

Robards blinked. "Your house-elf."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, and he explained what had happened. The room was silent when he was finished; the scratching of quills on those white notepads had completely ceased. Robards sat back in his chair, an expression of disbelief on his face. Brigs was smiling.

"Angus," Robards said to Proudfoot, "find Percy Weasley and tell him to set up an appointment for me with the Minister. Williamson, get Mathilda Van der Kerk from Magical Creatures in here right away. Smythe, get Suarez from Magical Law Enforcement. And Potter," he said, turning to Harry, "you'd best bring in this house-elf." He gave an incredulous laugh. "Merlin's beard, Potter. After everything else you've done…I think you've started something, here, son."

They went back to visit Hogwarts on a beautiful, sunny day at the end of October. The cold spell was a memory; now there was only a pleasant crispness to the air that reminded Harry of back-to-school and Hogwarts and home. It had not been that long since Harry, Ron and Hermione had last been to Hogsmeade – only a few months, in fact – but so much in their lives had changed since then. Hogsmeade, however, had not changed perceptibly since the summer. The ice cream stands were gone and the trees that lined the streets were nearly bare, but the town was as busy and lively as it had been a few months ago.

The trio stopped into the Hog's Head to say hello to Aberforth and Lavender and found that the pub was cleaner and busier than ever. Harry politely complimented the unlikely pair on the nice state of the place and their increased business. Lavender seemed thrilled about it, while Aberforth's surly comments about chasing away all the interesting customers weren't enough to disguise how pleased he really was.

"Parvarti's finally been released from St. Mungo's, did you hear?" Lavender said excitedly. "She's still weak sometimes but she's recovering really well…she might even come to help out here a couple of days a week!"

"There'll be _two_ of them," muttered Aberforth with a groan.

"Well maybe the _two_ of us combined will be able to get you to take a bath," Lavender said lightly. Ron snickered. Harry felt a small weight lift from him though, hearing about Parvarti's recovery. Another person for whom life was continuing, pieced back together after the Battle of Hogwarts.

They also stopped into Country Gardens, just as they had last time, to see Willy Peet. He seemed as indefatigable as ever, snapping their photograph again and chattering a mile a minute. This was another relief for Harry, another weight lifted; Peet had been questioned by the Death Eaters, after all, in their search for Arbour Glen. Another life touched and changed but not damaged, not irreparably. Peet even tried to show Ron and Hermione some houses. Hermione flushed and started asking very technical questions about Peet's special Proproculars, but interestingly, Harry caught Ron absently paging through some flyers with phrases like _3+1 bedroom family home in good neighbourhood…_

They briefly popped into the Three Broomsticks just to see if anyone they knew was in there (no one _they_ knew was, although everyone in there seemed to know them) and Zonko's (Ron warned them to act casual and try not to draw attention to themselves as he 'checked out the competition', then promptly tripped over a display of Dungbombs and set a dozen of the things off). Finally, the trio found themselves on that same walk they had taken a few short months ago.

As they walked up the path towards the gates, Harry watched the castle loom up before them, familiar and yet changed. The rubble littering the grounds and the scorch marks on the stones were gone. There were places where repairs had obviously been made, subtle differences in the colour and texture of the castle stone. Harry wasn't sure what they would find inside; it would be changed as well, he knew, but perhaps not enough. He still was not sure that he could see the Great Hall without seeing the neat lines of bodies lying there, that he could walk past the place where it had all ended without being assailed by memories. But he had his new beginning and so did Hogwarts, and he was glad that the school would have a place in his new life, if only a small one.

Hermione, to his surprise, had elected to make arrangements similar to his own. In fact, that was the reason for their visit; both she and Harry had come to speak to their professors and make final arrangements for classes. The two of them would be taking their N.E.W.T. classes privately at night or on weekends, while Harry completed his Auror training and Hermione began her internship at the Ministry. Ron, on the other hand, was putting off his N.E.W.T's for now (or indefinitely) while he continued to manage the ever-expanding joke shop with George. In addition, Harry knew that both Ron and Hermione would be working on important side projects, and he also knew that he was going to be a part of them both.

"They're not back yet?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence. "The students?"

"Ginny's letter says November the first," Harry said. "It's all ours, for today."

"We haven't been inside, you know," said Ron, echoing Harry's earlier thoughts, "since…that night." He took a deep breath and looked first at Harry, then at Hermione. "But I think I'm ready. To go back."

"It's not really going back, though," Harry said. "More like…moving forward."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached the gates. To their surprise, the gates silently swung open for them, as if Hogwarts was expecting them, was welcoming them back.

They moved forward.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **This is the final chapter, but not to worry - an epilogue is on its way! It's sort of an essential resolution of the story, so please check back soon to read it. Thank you so much for everyone who has continued reading and reviewing this story over the years...after nearly 5 long years of writing this (!) I'll finally be finished.

Thank you as always to my beta, Michael Ho, to whom I owe the entire beginning scene of this chapter.


	21. Epilogue

**INTERLUDE**

_by Silver Phoenix_

**Epilogue**

_Nineteen years later…_

"Level _Two_, Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

The typically cool, female voice in the lifts at the Ministry of Magic sounded annoyed. Bran Bennett gradually realized that this was the third or fourth time it had repeated itself, and that he had been standing in the lift with the golden grilles opened to Level Two for quite some time. He muttered an apology – although he realized as soon as he had done it that it was stupid, apologizing to a lift – and walked out into the corridor, still feeling dazed. The golden grilles snapped shut behind him quickly, almost as if in contempt.

Bran stood there for a moment in the middle of the busy corridor, with people rushing about their business all around him, trying to get his head on straight. He hadn't been able to sleep the night before – not that he was expecting to – and his head felt fuzzy. Everything had a dreamlike quality to it. He felt different, but this corridor looked the same as it always had. It seemed wrong somehow. How could people still be going about their daily business? Didn't they know that everything was different, everything had changed? Bran shook himself and headed down the corridor, towards Auror Headquarters, dreading what was to come.

Hubert Humfrinkle was waiting for him in front of the heavy oak doors that led to Auror Headquarters. He wasn't an Auror himself – far from it, in fact - but as Chair of Inter-Departmental House-Elf Relations, Hubert was one of Bran's primary contacts in the Department of Magical Creatures. Hubert was looking at him with pity and concern, but there was something else there as well. As Bran approached Hubert and numbly shook his hand, he realized it was something like awe, or respect.

This was the look that Bran had craved since boyhood. Even before he'd discovered magic and learned about Dark wizards and Aurors and all the rest, Bran had always wanted to be a hero, had always craved that look of awe and respect. It was what led him on the path to become an Auror in the first place. But nothing in all the books he'd read about the Dark Times of Grindelwald and Voldemort, nothing in any Professor Brigstocke's tales of danger and Dark magic, nothing in the duels he'd faced as a member of Dumbledore's Army, the self-defence club at Hogwarts, nothing in Auror training or even his first year as a certified Auror had prepared him for the grim reality of battle and loss. He was a hero, and Gav was gone. That was the reality of being an Auror.

"All right then, Bran?" Hubert asked nervously. "Well, I mean of course you're not all right, but…"

"Are they waiting, then?" Bran rasped out. He was surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. He must have shouted his vocal cords raw last night, two words over and over again. _EXPECTO PATRONUM…_

Hubert nodded. "Inside. I'll walk with you."

Bran had been partnered with Gavin Brighton on the first day of Auror training. The Head – who had immediately become Bran's hero at age eleven, when he had first heard the stories about him – had addressed them all that first day and then read out names in pairs. This was something the current Head had changed when he had taken over; all the trainees lived and worked and trained in a group, but the Head also stressed the need within that group for a partner and a confidante, someone who would be by your side for all the important things, someone you could really rely on during the strenuous training process. Bran had nervously awaited his name, and when the Head had called his name next to Gavin's, his hopes had been dashed. Bran was a Muggle-born from Wales who had grown up on a farm and had been shocked to learn at the age of eleven that wizards existed and that he was, in fact, one of them. He was quiet and hardworking, the quintessential Hufflepuff. He was old-fashioned like his dad, shy but easy to befriend, good at sport but rubbish at Quidditch. In his first year at Hogwarts he had eagerly eaten up every story about the heroes of the wizarding world – both the true ones he learned in History of Magic or Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the legends whispered in the boys' dorm at night. Bran had worked hard, steadily and patiently, to get the grades required to be considered for the Auror trainee program. When he had gotten his acceptance letter it had been a dream come true.

Gavin had been in Gryffindor, a few years ahead of Bran, although they had both ended up in the same trainee group. Gav was from South London, loud, brash and reckless. He loved pubs and women and brawls and general mischief. In fact, Gav had spent most of his time at Hogwarts trying to outshine the legendary Weasley twins by getting into a spectacular amount of trouble. He was also, improbably, a genius. He somehow fumbled his way into excellent N.E.W.T. grades, which were wasted as he spent a few years after Hogwarts bombing around London and getting into pub fights. Then, suddenly, Gav had decided that he wanted to become an Auror. Miraculously, he had got through the application process without offending someone important or missing an exam and had ended up in training with Bran. On that day when their names were called side-by-side, Bran had remembered Gavin's reputation from school and had been less than thrilled that the two of them had been paired up.

It had been difficult, at first, with them being so different. Bran was doggedly by-the-book while Gav seemed determined to do the exact opposite of everything they were told. Bran was cautious, Gav was reckless; Bran was considerate, Gav was just downright rude most of the time; Bran worked hard at everything he had to learn while Gav just seemed to pick things up effortlessly. Eventually, though, Bran found his frustration ebbing away. Although they were so different, they also had a lot in common. Both of them were Muggle-born. Both of them, despite being fully immersed in the wizarding world, had never quite gotten the appeal of Quidditch and still loved Muggle football, although Gav was a West Ham fan while Bran loyally supported Swansea. Both of them had lost their mothers – Gavin's mum had left when he was only three, Bran's ma had died of cancer when he was six. It turned out they were both in Auror training for the same reasons – they secretly dreamed of helping others, of being heroes. And both of them hero-worshipped the Head.

Somehow, by the end of training, the two of them had become as close as brothers. So when they were both assigned to Azkaban as fully certified Aurors, it had seemed too good to be true…

Hubert and Bran had arrived at a rich, oak door. Bran had been dimly aware of walking through the cubicles, of the fact that the others had been staring. He also realized now where Hubert had been leading him, because on the shiny plaque on the door they were facing was the inscription:

_Harry Potter_

_Head of the Order of Aurors_

Despite everything, Bran felt his heart speed up. He had seen and spoken to the Head, of course – in his application interviews, a few times during training, a quick greeting in the corridor or in the lift – but never in his office, and never about a specific assignment. He had thought that his debriefing would be in the usual room and would include Smythe, who had been the senior Auror on call at Azkaban last night, and maybe Sri, who oversaw all the Aurors at the prison. But certainly not the Head himself. Numb and dazed as he was, it was slowly dawning on Bran that the attack on Azkaban prison last night and his part in defending the prison had been rather significant.

Hubert clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder and then knocked on the door. Someone called, "Come in," and Hubert opened the door. Bran trailed in after him.

The office was cluttered, messy. The bookcase on one wall was packed; a few books had been jammed in places they didn't quite fit or had been stacked upon other books. The wastepaper basket was empty, although several crumpled pieces of paper were lying on the ground very close to it. A broom was propped up in one corner and a Quidditch poster was hanging crookedly on the wall (Bran recalled the girls at school bragging about an all-witch team, which the poster must have featured, because a red-headed witch kept zooming by on her broomstick and winking at him). On the opposite wall hung a giant corkboard with a colourful assortment of items tacked onto it: photos, newspaper clippings, memos, handwritten notes, some stick-figure drawings and finger paintings clearly done by children, a few Christmas cards, and strangely, an aging copy of the chocolate frog card that featured Professor Longbottom. There were stacks of paper and file folders on the desk, and several picture frames containing photos of Potter with his wife and two boys. And behind the desk sat the man himself – Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, the Man who Defeated, the Head of the Aurors.

But he was not the only person sitting behind his desk. Bran felt as though he had stepped into one of his history books, because next to Potter sat Ron Weasley and his wife, Hermione Granger-Weasley. The famous trio. Names and stories that everyone in the wizarding world knew by heart. They had evidently been discussing something, but trailed off as Bran walked in the door.

"Thank you, Hubert," Harry Potter said quietly. "If it's all right with you, could we speak to Bran in private, first?"

Even Hubert, who was at least twice the Head's age, looked intimidated by the three of them. "Not a problem, not a problem…I'll be out there, just feel free to call if you need me…" He gave an awkward nod to the three of them and then hurried out the room, closing the door behind him. Bran stood there, trying not to stare.

"Have a seat, mate," said Ron Weasley. "If you can find one in this mess, that is."

"You're one to talk," his wife scoffed.

"_I_ am not messy, _your son_ is messy."

"Oh, so he's just _my_ son, now?" she said acerbically.

"Yeah, you can take Hugo and I'll have Rosie, she's the good one." Weasley grinned and winked at Bran.

His wife rolled her eyes. Then she said kindly, "Would you like a cup of tea, Bran?"

Bran was still in awe. He realized his mouth was slightly ajar and quickly shut it, sitting down rather heavily in the chair on the opposite side of Potter's desk.

"No," he said rather belatedly to Granger-Weasley's question. "No, thank you, though."

"Go on then, Hermione, I'll have one," said Ron Weasley.

"Make your own," she retorted, but then she said, "Harry, where _is_ the kettle? Ron's actually right, it is a bit of a mess in here."

"I know exactly where everything is," Potter said defensively, digging a kettle out of a desk drawer. He removed a quill from where it was jammed inside the spout and then levitated it over to Granger-Weasley. She filled it with water from her wand and then said a spell to set the water to boil. The Head Conjured some teacups while Weasley produced tea bags from somewhere (a fleeting thought crossed Bran's mind that he hoped the tea bags weren't from his shop). Within a few seconds three steaming cups of tea sat in front of the trio, and despite his refusal a cup was also levitated over to Bran. He wrapped his hands around the warm cup and realized that he had wanted a cup of tea, after all. It dawned on Bran that he hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

They sat in silence for a few moments, drinking their tea. Then finally, Potter said, "Bran, I'm very sorry to have to do this and I know it's going to be difficult for you, but I'm going to need you to tell us exactly what happened last night. I've heard from Smythe and Sri already, but I'd like to hear it from you, directly. I thought you might not be up to a regular debriefing with everyone, so that's why we're speaking to you here, in private, if that's all right."

Bran nodded. Potter paused, and glanced at the two people next to him. "I also hope you don't mind that Ron and Hermione are here. I thought…well, all three of us have a vested interest in Azkaban, as you know."

"Well, _two_ of us do, anyway," Granger-Weasley said, giving her husband a look. "Ron invited himself. "

"Quite right, too," Weasley retorted. "Azkaban is big business for us…I need to know what went wrong just as much as you lot do. You don't mind, do you, Bran?"

Bran shook his head, still bewildered. The trio seemed to take this response as a signal; they fell silent, expectant. It finally became apparent to Bran that they were waiting for him to start talking. He closed his eyes and tried to think of how to begin, tried to organize the thoughts and pictures flying around in his muddled, sleep-deprived brain.

"It's better this way, mate," said Weasley quietly. "Like a bandage. Just rip it off in one go."

Bran nodded, set down his tea cup, and took a deep breath. Then the whole story poured out of him.

For fifteen years the house-elves had been the guardians of Azkaban, thanks primarily to one of the people sitting with him in this room. With the help of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, a young Hermione Granger had, famously, first proposed the idea of house-elf guards after the disastrous attempts at wizard and even goblin guards in the years following the final defeat of Voldemort. Bran knew that it had been regarded almost as a joke back then, that Granger-Weasley had nearly lost her job over her fight to install the house-elves as guards and to increase their rights and responsibilities. Bran had difficulty fathoming such an era; he had been a Muggle kid at the time, with no inkling of the wizarding world except for a few odd incidents here and there. In Bran's wizarding world, the house-elves had always been the guardians of Azkaban, powerful beings to be respected. They were admittedly a bit odd at times, and they could be unorganized if not given clear instructions to follow by the Aurors. They were no longer servants as they had been in the old days; Bran had always thought of them as colleagues and could not imagine a world in which they were not. When Bran really thought about it, he supposed there was still something of a servant in them – the elves always needed to be given clear instructions and orders to follow; it was a fundamental part of their nature, as he understood it. But Bran could never quite get his head around the fact that only a few short years ago, house-elves actually lived up to their outdated name and served old wizarding families in their homes, like butlers or maids. Household servants…these beings that could sap a wizard of his magic and keep it from him with almost no effort on their part. It was ridiculous.

The Aurors' role within Azkaban had changed over time. In the first few transition years, the Aurors posted at Azkaban had had far more responsibilities at the prison. They had dealt with unruly prisoners, created and maintained new security charms within and surrounding the building, and constantly monitored the prisons and the house-elves' magic. Officially, the Aurors were still in command, but nowadays the prison basically ran itself. The house-elves' magicless cells were indestructible, the inmates usually subdued to their fate. The elves ran the day-to-day affairs of the prison smoothly and efficiently. As time wore on, the Azkaban Aurors' jobs were more about dealing with threats from _without_ rather than those _within_ the prison. Other than the odd pureblood nutter here and there, people generally accepted the house-elf guards at Azakban now. In fact, Hermione Granger's career had skyrocketed after the first few trial years of success and she had eventually taken on a prestigious position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as Head of the Affairs of Magical Beings and Creatures. The only ones, it seemed, that were unhappy these days with the house-elves' appointments were the beings whom they had replaced – the Dementors.

Pickings were slim these days for a creature who fed only on unhappiness and despair. The wizarding world Bran had always known was a relatively calm and peaceful place, not exactly a breeding ground for hopelessness and gloom. So a building full of formerly powerful Dark wizards robbed of their magic was like a feast for them; a stronghold of depression and misery. The Dementors had, on two previous occasions, tried to take Azkaban back. This was now the Aurors' purpose at Azkaban prison: to protect it from its increasingly desperate, hungry former guards. Twice the Dementors had been driven away, the second time only a few years before Bran had completed training. The Dementors were always a threat, hence the honour of being chosen as an Azkaban Auror; but after a year at the prison Bran had, admittedly, started to become a bit too comfortable. The Dementors' third – and Bran now realized, probably final - attempt had been last night.

"I arrived at Azkaban at six for my regular shift," Bran began in his low, quiet voice. People here in London seemed to have a hard time understanding him sometimes. They claimed he had a strong Welsh accent, although Bran failed to hear how he sounded different from anyone else. As a result he had started speaking more slowly when he had come here. Gav had always joked that he sounded like he was trying to lull people to sleep.

"There were five of us down my end of the prison, as always – myself, Smythe, Harris, Kapoor, and…and Brighton." His voice cracked, embarrassingly, on Gav's surname. Bran brought his teacup to his lips for something to do and found it was empty. He set it down on the desk with a clatter.

Bran cleared his throat. "It was a quiet night. I did some paperwork in the office, then did the rounds with Gav…Rowle was in top form, hollering as usual…"

Weasley called Rowle something extremely colourful under his breath. His wife, amazingly, did not blink. Bran remembered that it had been Weasley's famous _Flagrante_ spells that had helped convict Rowle and a dozen others, years ago, of torturing a Muggle family.

"We tried to reason with him a bit, talk to him, but he's a bit off after being in there all these years. So…well, we decided to bugger it, if I'm honest, and give him a Sleeping Draught just to shut him up. Gav left to get it. I was with two of the guards – Mitsy and Cobb, they're in charge of Rowle's Block – when I heard…I heard a sound like an explosion, and Gav screaming."

He stopped. His mouth was dry; he licked his lips. Granger-Weasley wordlessly Conjured him a glass of water. Bran picked it up off the desk gratefully and took a long gulp before continuing.

"I went after him, turned the corner into Block E and…the outside wall was gone, blown to bits, there were…there were some casualties – the house elves from that Block, two of the prisoners – I'm sorry, I can't remember who…" He felt embarrassed. He was an Auror, trained to remember details, to memorize the minutiae of a room as soon as he'd entered it, to notice things others would not.

Potter shook his head. "Don't worry. You're doing fine."

"Are they all right?" Bran asked suddenly. He felt guilt eating at him; how had he not remembered them, the house-elves and the prisoners strewn across the ground amongst the rubble?

"The prisoners and most of the house-elves are being cared for at St. Mungo's. They're in serious condition, but stable," Potter replied. He hesitated. "Do you know Grumkin? Fitz?"

Bran nodded, picturing the stocky little house-elf Grumkin and the wisp of an elf they called Fitz. Potter shook his head sadly and Bran felt the tightness in his chest increase a little more. Weasley had placed one hand over his wife's.

Bran closed his eyes momentarily. They sat in silence for a few moments. When Bran opened his eyes, Potter said gently, "You got to Block E, saw the wall was gone…"

"Right. The Dementors…they were streaming in the opening, flying down the corridor. I had heard Gav screaming but I couldn't see him straight away, they were everywhere…" He suddenly felt he should defend his friend, protect the memory of a top notch Auror. He took a deep, shaky breath and addressed the Head, who was watching him with a grim and serious look on his face. "We've all had Dementor training, you know that, sir…but in training it was always just one, or two…he…he didn't have a chance…"

"How many of them were there?" Potter asked quietly.

Bran's heart was starting to pound as he remembered the details. He could still hear Gavin screaming. "Dozens," he whispered. "I'd say maybe fifty, sixty. More had already gotten in, though. We found them later."

Weasley swore again. "How in Merlin's name didn't the Detectors go off?"

The Dementor Detectors had been another Weasley invention, a modification of one of their joke shop products. Originally it had begun as a Blues Banisher, a device that could be set to monitor a particular person's emotions and to sound off when they were feeling unhappy or upset (it had, incidentally, become extremely popular with wizards desperate to avoid the mood swings of the special witch in their life). George Weasley had invented it for the joke shop; Ron Weasley, in his capacity as Device Development Consultant to the Aurors, had modified the Blues Banisher to pick up on pockets of extreme unhappiness anywhere, not necessarily just in a particular person. Pockets of extreme unhappiness, of course, usually could only be found where Dementors were present. Thus the Dementor Detectors had been born.

"And how did there get to be so many in the same place at the same time?" his wife replied worriedly. "They've never been able to organize or work cooperatively in the past…that's why all of our attempts at talks with them have failed…"

"If you don't mind me saying, ma'am," said Bran quietly, "I think it might be because we never had anything worthwhile to say, in their view."

Potter nodded. "They want to feed, Hermione. They know we can never give that to them. So they've organized, in their desperation. We've denied them long enough," he said.

"But the Detectors," Weasley repeated emphatically. "How did all of them suddenly fail all at once?" He looked at Potter. Some kind of private exchange seemed to occur between them although nothing was spoken aloud.

"You really think…?" Weasley said quietly.

"Someone on the inside," Potter confirmed. Bran suddenly shuddered as thoughts began to crowd into his head, faces and names of the people he trusted the most in the world…he pushed the thoughts aside. There would be time to think about this, too, later.

"What happened next?" the Head asked. Then, quickly, "if you're all right to carry on."

Bran nodded. _Like a bandage_, he thought. "I had no idea what was happening for a few seconds. Everything had gone cold, dark…everything seemed impossible, like you couldn't do anything or feel anything other than…than how I was feeling…well, you know," he finished lamely. All three of them nodded. He could see in their faces that they all knew exactly what he had experienced.

"I yelled for the house-elves to get help and find the other Aurors…one of them disappeared – it was, yeah, it was Mitsy…then I saw – it was…"

_A swarm of black descending upon Gav. His friend screaming, screaming out unintelligible things, reliving something terrible from his past. The sound, that rattling. A glimpse of Gav's body in that flurry of black, his back arching unnaturally, his head being thrown back, his soul being sucked out…_

"What did you do?" Hermione Granger-Weasley said quietly after he had described the scene to them the best he could.

"I tried to think of something happy, but I couldn't," Bran admitted. "It was…there were so many of them. But then…then Kreacher turned up."

The house-elves of Azkaban had no one single leader; all of them were technically under the authority of the Order of Aurors. But in Bran's mind, Kreacher was head of the house-elves. The stories went that he was a veteran of the Battle of Hogwarts and that he had been the first to use the no-magic prisons that the house-elves were now famous for. The wizened old house-elf had a history with Potter himself, Bran knew. He had even heard rumours that Kreacher had been Potter's servant, once, in the old days – but that was difficult to believe.

At Azkaban, Bran had never heard Kreacher issue an order to a fellow house-elf, had never seen him at any official meetings or named in any memo. Still, somehow, all of the Aurors knew that Kreacher was in charge. He was always consulted, if informally, on matters pertaining to the prison or the prisoners, always the one that was sought out when something was amiss. So when Kreacher had suddenly appeared, a fierceness glowing in those bulbous eyes, a being of stories and legends, it had allowed Bran to grasp at an emotion that had seemed impossible in the Dementors' coldness…hope.

"Kreacher turned up, and I felt a bit better with him being there, but it was still difficult to focus, with so many of them… So I just…don't know, really…I concentrated on Gav, like, what his…how he's been a mate, you know…and then…"

_Shouting hoarsely at Kreacher, the little house-elf who had been at Azkaban since the beginning. Something about helping, an order the elf could follow. Feeling something happen, feeling the cold and the darkness recede from around him and the house-elf at his side. Focusing with all his might on Gav, his unlikely best friend –always laughing, joking, full of life - and then an overwhelming sense of power, of conviction, of might, before he'd screamed at the top of his lungs – "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

The trio sitting at the desk in front of him were silent as Bran described all of this as best he could. Weasley let out a breath; he had been holding it.

"And then…I don't know what happened. I didn't see my Patronus, just a…a blinding light…like the whole world had gone white…and then I realized that Kreacher was holding my hand…and then they were gone. The Dementors."

"What do you mean, gone?" Weasley asked.

"Gone as in…gone. They disappeared. Vaporized, like."

Weasley stared, his mouth agape. "Blimey…so it is true. You killed them."

"Don't know, sir. They were just…gone."

"Dozens of them."

"Yes, sir."

Granger-Weasley had grabbed a piece of parchment and was furiously scratching down notes. Potter was watching Bran, still calm, but his eyes betrayed a sense of astonishment and…something like pride. Bran was struck with the sudden realization that he had done something rather spectacular.

_Not spectacular enough…_

"Then I went to Gav," Bran said quickly, rushing to get through this part that he had been dreading, "and he was…he was on the ground, staring up…and…I could see it was too late…that they'd…the Kiss…"

Potter nodded, graciously sparing Bran from having to say it out loud: _Alive, but gone. Never to laugh, joke, nothing…ever again. An empty shell._

"You kept fighting, though," Granger-Weasley said softly. It was a statement, not a question.

Bran swallowed hard, and nodded. "I knew Gav was…he was gone, so Kreacher and Cobb and I ran for Block D…there were more Dementors there; Mitsy must have found Kapoor and Smythe because they were already there, fighting them off. There were maybe another thirty or forty Dementors…and I could see that Kapoor's and Smythe's Patronuses were getting weaker…"

_The house-elves each taking one of his hands - Kreacher his left and Cobb his right. The elves looking up at him with those bulbous eyes, waiting for the order so that they could do what they knew they could. Croaking out one word for them: "Again." Feeling the calm and the power flow through him once more, then raising his wand with Kreacher's hand still in his own and shouting the Patronus charm again. The white and blinding light again. Then silence._

"It was easier from then on in. We met up with the other Aurors and moved through and cleared each Block. There were a few more pockets of resistance, a few other places where they had broken in. Not like…not like where Gav had been though. Fewer of them. Harris down the other end of Azkaban had a close call, but we…well, we got there just in time."

"And every time, you partnered with the house-elves and…" Weasley snapped his fingers. "Gone."

Bran nodded.

"Fascinating," Granger-Weasley breathed, still scribbling furious on now a second piece of parchment. She looked up at her two companions, eyes shining. "I can't believe…after all this time…how did we not think of it before? How did _I _not think of it before? House-elves partnering with wizards, augmenting each other's magic…"

Weasley shook his head in amazement. "Daft, isn't it? Could you have imagined this, Harry, back in the days of good ol' S.P.E.W.?"

His wife elbowed him. Bran hadn't the faintest clue what Weasley was referring to, but although Granger-Weasley looked annoyed as she continued scribbling away, a smile was tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I don't really understand what happened, to be honest," Bran said, spreading his hands out, palms upwards in a gesture of helplessness. "I just gave them the order to help, and…"

"Yes, and that's the wonderful thing, Bran," said Granger-Weasley, looking up at him in admiration. "You thought to ask them for help."

Bran was puzzled. "Why wouldn't I?" he said. Granger-Weasley looked as though she might leap over the desk and hug him.

"And that's…that's pretty much it," Bran said. "Once we were sure the prison was cleared, Smythe contacted you, sir, and then Sri turned up and I told her what I've just told you."

Potter nodded. "You've been brilliant so far, and I know this isn't easy, but I have to ask - is there _anything_ else you think might be important right now?" he said. "Now that all this is…fresh in your memory?"

Bran thought these memories would always be fresh. Walls exploding and shouts of horror; house-elves lying sprawled across the cold stone floors of Azkaban; blood on those stones; the desperation of battle and a ringing in his ears; black-cloaked figures swooping past him, around him; cold and despair running through him; the rattling, the screaming; Gav in the midst of all of them, head thrown back, back arched, soul seeping out of him; Gav, glassy-eyed and still on the ground, mouth slightly ajar…how would such memories ever fade?

"I don't think so," Bran croaked out. "Sir," he added belatedly.

The Head sat back in his chair and then looked at both of his friends in turn. He said nothing for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. Bran waited.

"Bran," said the Head finally, and despite everything Bran felt a little thrill at being addressed by name by his boyhood hero, the man he admired the most in the world. "I hope you understand," Harry Potter continued slowly, "that what you did last night was incredible. Unprecedented. You somehow bound house-elf magic to your own. It seems you didn't just protect yourself from the Dementors, or drive them away…you've done something else entirely."

"Azkaban's probably safe for awhile, I'd think," Weasley said with a grin. "Once the other Dementors get word that there's some kid Auror running around blowing up Dementors with the house-elves, they should leave you be for awhile."

"And you've opened up a whole new avenue for house-elf/wizard relations…intertwining magic, partnering together…" Granger-Weasley said excitedly.

"I think," said Harry Potter, "that you've started something, son."

Bran blinked, dumbfounded. He'd only used the Patronus Charm. And asked the house-elves for help. It didn't seem like much, especially… "But I couldn't save him," he blurted out, his voice cracking.

The three of them went silent and exchanged glances. Bran _had_ left something out, something he was ashamed of.

"I…I said something to Kreacher," he admitted. "After I saw Gav lying there. After he'd been Kissed. I wasn't thinking, to be honest…I said something about helping Gav…I…I told Kreacher to bring him back. I made it an order. And Kreacher got real upset, you know how the old ones are, they'll still hit themselves sometimes if they can't do what you ask…"

Potter smiled ruefully. "I'm well aware."

"It was…it wasn't right." Bran bowed his head. "I'm sorry that I did that," he said quietly.

"You'd just lost someone," Potter replied. "We do desperate things, sometimes. I'm sure Kreacher tried, too. I think we can all safely say, after what you've just told us, that after all this time we still underestimate the house-elves. But even their powers have a limit." He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair and glancing at a tattered old photograph framed on his desk. The photograph was of a small crowd of people – Bran picked out Albus Dumbledore, a young Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody...heroes from the past, faces and names he'd known since first year. "Even they can't bring someone back."

Weasley looked at his wife and this time she quietly placed a hand on one of his. Bran realized that of all the people he could have possibly told this story to, these three were probably the only people in his world who would understand.

"What now?" he asked, his voice raw. "What do I do?"

"What do you mean?" Potter asked, not unkindly.

"I mean, you say I've done something…something big, but…I've lost my friend, and…and other people are dead. And I have to live with that, all the same."

Potter nodded, knowingly. The three of them waited patiently, seeming to recognize that Bran was not finished.

"I mean, where do I go from here? What do I do now?" he said, feeling lost. He looked at each of them in turn, these three people who had changed the wizarding world, who were _still_ changing it.

"What did _you_ do?" Bran asked. "If…if you don't mind me asking. What did you do, after everything that happened to all of you? After the Battle of Hogwarts…but before you started your lives and everything else…what…what did you do, in the interlude?"

Harry Potter looked at his friends, then back at the young Auror sitting in front him.

"Well," he said, "it's actually an interesting story…"

_The End_

* * *

**Author's Notes:** When the Harry Potter series ended I felt that something was missing. The epilogue of Deathly Hallows just didn't do it for me; there were too many loose ends and so much more character development to explore. So in 2007 I started writing this in an effort to tie up those loose ends. Nearly six years later, it's finally done. Rowling herself probably wrote half the Harry Potter series in the time that it's taken me to write just this one story, but I'm pleased (and I hope that you are too) with how it came out. This story would have never been finished at all if not for my fabulous, amazing beta, Michael Ho. Thank you one last time for your hard work, inspiration, and encouragement.

Thank you also to all of the readers who have continued to read this story. Now that it's completed I would love to hear your thoughts on the story as a whole. As in the prologue, I wanted to do an epilogue from a new character's point of view and show the trio from an outsider's perspective, and hopefully you have enjoyed reading about Bran and the wizarding world nineteen years later. Personally, I think I'm finally done with this story and these characters - but if anyone is up to the challenge, I'd love to read more about Head of the Aurors Harry and his world nineteen years later. Hope that others are writing some great post-Deathly Hallows fics out there and if so, I would love to read them.

Thank you, thank you, thank you again for reading my story.

~SP~


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